Maybe Time Will Heal These Scars
by TF2bananas
Summary: "...but I have my doubts. That's what they say isn't it? That time heals all wounds? But how can the old ones heal if they keep carving new ones, deeper and deeper into my skin... How am I to move forward, if all they want is to drag me back?" UPDATE: I'm writing again :]
1. Chapter 1

I was nervous.

I know, not the best thing to admit to myself considering the situation, but it was true nonetheless. In fact, nervous was probably a long stretch of the word 'understatement'. Terrified would have been a more proper adjective to describe what I was feeling at the moment. Somehow, I couldn't shake off that grim feeling that everything about my life was about to change, and not for the better. Maybe it was the dull, grey walls, or the stink of metal, sweat and gunpowder that clogged the air that was causing my guts to twist and contort. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the deep, cold voice rasping instructions at me through my headset.

"Keep moving girl. _Faster._" Yes, that was probably it.

Though I had to admit, I much preferred this method of communication. I had met the administrator once. Just once, and I found myself praying it would be the last. She'd scrutinized me under her gaze, mentally assessing every nook and cranny she could lay her eyes on. I hadn't given her much to look at really. I considered myself quite an ordinary teenager; tall, average build, light brown, medium-length hair and grey/blue eyes. I suppose my eyes were somewhat 'pretty'? But that was as far as self-complimenting ever got with me. The rest, in my opinion, was somewhat unremarkable. Well, not quite _all_ the way unremarkable. I did consider myself to be rather clever, supported by the fact that I had gotten into Oxford's engineering department. My heart churned. "_So much potential, such a waste to throw away your life like that…" _The voice echoed in my head, but I forced it back before the sea of memory could come crashing down on me like so many waves on a stormy beach. _Not today,_ I decided.

"Here." The voice purred in my right ear as soon as I approached a heavy-looking door. She didn't say anything else; she didn't have to. I knew what was behind that door, and I knew what I was expected to do. Introducing yourself to your new teammates didn't sound like that big a deal in most situations, but I was willing to accept that for this one, it was. I had no idea who these people were. I had no idea where they were from, how old they were, what they each did; nothing. All I knew was that behind that closed door, lay waiting nine mercenaries; nine men who hadn't seen a female in a very, _very_ long time. The administrator had made sure to tell me that alright, oh yes she did, and with a cruel, twisted sort of knowing smirk. I was in for some very tough times. Boy did I know that.

_Go on,_ I urged myself, blowing out a puff of air that had been in my lungs for so long, they had started to hurt. _You can do this. _I swallowed the build-up of saliva in my mouth. _Now or never._

I lifted my right hand.

I knocked.


	2. Chapter 2

The door opened immediately, silently, as if it were merely a leaf skirting across smooth ground. The lack of delay took me by surprise; they had been waiting for me. The light spilling from the room was sudden and intense, threatening to blind me. But I walked in anyway. I figured that if I couldn't see, I wouldn't be able to pick out any dangers that might be coming my way. So I stepped inside, and the door closed behind me. Someone was breathing heavily behind my back, in a strange, distorted kind of way, but I wasn't looking back. I was looking _forward. _

Seven pairs of hard male eyes bombarded me with their stares the second I'd stepped into the light. They were all sitting around a large, metal military-style table, facing the same direction; mine. I had barely made out two faces before one voice rung out through the uncomfortable silence.

"A chick?!" The voice was a young one, a teenager around my age. I picked him out easily enough; he was the only adolescent within the room. Clad in what looked like a baseball uniform, the youth had stood up and was gawking at me with shock in his eyes. "No way," he stuttered, leaning across the table as if to get a better look, "they sent us a _girl._"

"Yes Herr Scout," another, older, voice sounded out, exasperated. "We hav discussed zis already." It didn't take me long to match the voice to the body. It was a dark-haired man wearing spectacles and donning what looked like a medical coat. He was seated at the very centre of the table, his gloved hands under his chin as he looked at me. "Our new teammate is _eine junge dame."_

"Wha?" The teen said in disbelief, "nobody told ME!"

"Oui Scout, we did. Clearly, and frequently," a masked man chided in a heavy French accent. "Per'aps if you weren't such a pretentious little imbécile you would ave picked up on ze gender of our newest recruit." His eyes met mine only once throughout the entire outbreak, and the look he gave me was none too sweet. I had bowed my head in embarrassment then, my cheeks going just the slightest shade of delicate pink. Thick silence filled the room once more as the boy huffed at the chiding. I could feel the pressure of the men's gazes as they fell on me. I suddenly felt so insignificant.

"Ah lads, we've been cooped up in here far too long. We've frightened da poor lassie." A different voice spoke up now, gentler and softer, and in an accent I was much more accustomed to than the rest. "Look how she's shakin." I wouldn't even have noticed the tremor in my hands if the scottsman hadn't pointed it out. I fought to control it, but I couldn't help it; I was scared.

I heard a chair being scraped back. "Ah fishsticks," another gentle voice remarked, his footsteps getting closer, "don't worry child, we ain't gonna hurt you." The reassurance came with a soft hand on my shoulder. Without meaning to, I looked up, straight into the eyes of a gentle-faced man wearing a hard hat. "There see, that's better," he said with a smile. "We're sorry to frighten you kid, we didn't mean nothing by it." He moved to extend his right hand in my direction. "Pleased to meet your acquaintance, I'm your Engineer." I felt better in the presence of this man, he seemed like a gentle soul. So it wouldn't be an outright lie if I said it felt good to shake his hand.

"Katie," I said, somewhat shakily "I'm your new Aid."

"Nice to meet you Miss Katie," the Engineer smiled. "I'm sure we'll get along just fine," he promised, and I felt inclined to believe him. There was just no doubting that honey-glazed voice. "I apologize for that spot of rudeness jus' now, but I'm afraid we don't get out much."

"Excuse you," the youth said, suddenly by the Engineer's side. He had stood and ran around the table so fast he was nearly a blur. I had only caught it out of the corner of my eye and already I could tell this boy moved at dizzying speeds. "_You _don't get out much," he corrected with a chummy hand on the older man's shoulder. "I on the other hand, am the life of the party. Hey toots, howsit goin?" he asked with a wink and a heart-stopping smile, "Scout here."

"Hello," I said shyly. He really was standing rather close. I could almost smell the fabric softener on his light blue shirt, all I had to do was inhale. I made the mistake of looking up and found a pair of startling eyes gazing down at me with gleeful intent. From this angle, I could pretty much confirm that the Scout was the type of boy they talked about back home. He had that sort of cute, cocky grin that seemed to get you into a trance, and he was so _tall. _Like his body was all arms and legs. He had a headset on as well, though unlike mine, his was two-way. "I'm Katie."

"By 'Get out', do you mean that rinky-dink pub down the dirt-road full of bleedin old geysers?" A new voice asked of the Scout. I hadn't even seen the man approach before he was standing two feet away. "G'day Sheila," he said to me in a bone-softening Australian accent. "I'm your Sniper."

"H-hi," I stuttered. The man had appeared out of nowhere, giving me a bit of a shock. I had been so engrossed staring at the Scout that I'd forgot there were other men waiting to introduce themselves to me. I could see them now, getting up from around the table to walk towards me. In between a glance at the Scout, who was pouting childishly at the Australian, and the bushman himself, my vision was suddenly completely occupied by some sort of blue wall.

"Leetle Aid is so tiny!"

Wait. The wall _talked? _I looked up. _Holy shit. _It was a man. Not a wall, a giant, lumbering man standing just in front of me. How had I only just seen him? How could I even miss a person like that? You have to understand, this man wasn't just big, he was _huge. _He was the sort of person that caught your eye no matter where you were. So how hadn't I seen him when I'd come in. More importantly, how where those chairs around the table supporting his weight?

"Um, hello to you too," I said, taking a step back. Or at least I tried. I found my path blocked by the man in the medical coat. He too was standing a tad too close for comfort, especially considering the mad glint in his eyes. It was slightly unhinging.

"Leetle baby girl will get hurt on battlefield," the giant insisted, crouching down so that he was eyelevel with me. That too, was scary. "Tiny Aid, even smaller than baby man Scout!" he remarked with a bellow of laughter.

"Oi, watch it fatty," the boy snapped. But the giant ignored him and held out one book-sized hand to me. I assumed he wanted to shake mine, so I warily placed my right hand in his.

"Is nice meeting you leetle Aid, I am Heavy weapons guy," he introduced himself, shaking my hand so vigorously I thought my arm just might pop out of its socket. But he seemed genuinely happy as he did so, so I said nothing all throughout the process. "And man in coat is Medic." Ah. The nutjob was our doctor. How reassuring.

"If you don't mind me asking, vat is it zat you do?" Medic inquired as soon as I'd reclaimed control over my wobbly limb. I was cradling it against my chest, afraid that if I let go, Heavy might take it as cue to start shaking it again. "Vat exactly are your special skills?"

I furrowed my brow. Truth be told, the administrator hadn't been very elaborate on my role in the Blu team. She'd simply said: Help everyone out. So that's what I said now. "I help everyone out."

"What, like an assistant?" the Scout asked incrediously.

"Well yes, my class _is _called Aid, you see," I mocked him with a cocky smile "I think that's the general idea."

"Looks like we've got a smart-mouth ere laddies!" the dark-skinned scott chuckled as he slapped my shoulder in amusement. "Welcome to the team lassie," he said with a wide, lopsided smile, "I'm Demo. And before you freak out, that guy in rubber is our Pyro." It was almost like he'd timed it right down to the second. The last word had barely left his mouth before the man slipped into my line of vision, and if it weren't for the Demo's warning, I'd have made a right fool of myself and jumped a mile. The Pyro was like something that crawled straight out from one of my nightmares; demonic voice and all. Despite the heads up, I still backed away a few millimetres, against Demoman's chest. "Aye lassie, I warned ye," he said with a chuckle. I could feel his chest vibrating with the laughter, and it made me smile.

"Hi," I tried. I was looking for the man's eyes, but instead, I found two dark glass panels looming down at me like black holes.

"Mphhhhfmphhhemm."

"Excuse me?" That was literally all I heard. Nothing coherent, just mumbles. "I didn't quite catch that."

"Didn't expect you would Sheila," the Sniper said. "I've spent near four years with the bleedin' bugger an I still have no clue what he's on about half the time. But I'm going to guess he said something along the lines of 'Hello'." The Pyro nodded in accordance. "I must be getting better," he remarked jokingly.

"Ya ya, enough chitchat," the Medic interrupted with a wave of his gloved hand, "ve need to get down to business."

"Ah, does it have to be tonight Doc? I'm beat," the Scout complained as he scratched his head under the baseball cap. "Can't we do this tomorrow?"

"Nein Dumkopf, we have to take care of zis today."

"I think what we needa do," the Engineer cut in before the boy could retaliate, "is find the girl somewhere to sleep. It's gettin late Doc," he said, putting a calming hand on the Medic's shoulder, "we all wanna go to bed." He was right of course, it had been well into the evening when I'd caught the train already. It was probably past midnight now and I wasn't really in the mood to discuss vitals.

"Ugh," the Medic sighed, but he seemed won over. "Fine, fine, but first thing tomorrow, ve cover everything, no excuses."

"Sounds good to me doc," the Scout replied. He seemed a bit perkier now that I looked at him. "So, where's she gonna sleep?"

Even though it was Engineer himself who had brought up the subject, he seemed just about as lost as the rest did. "Do we have any spare bedrooms Doc?" he asked uncertainly. I'd assumed this was the sort of thing they'd have thought of in advance, but apparently not.

"Ve did, before Demoman blew it sky-high last year," he replied with a frown. I saw the Demoman roll one eye at that. "Vat about the Medical bay?"

"You honestly think the Sheila will be comfortable sleeping on those blood-stained gurneys mate?" the Sniper chimed in with a quizzical look on his face. "Besides, that place reeks of bleach, she'll never get any shut-eye there."

"Vell, wat do you suggest?" the Medic asked, "she can hardly sleep on ze dining hall tables can she?"

"Leetle baby girl can have Sasha's bed for one night," the Heavy offered.

It seemed to me as if the men had completely forgotten I was in the room with them, and had shuffled back out of the way to let them argue. I found myself standing idly between Scout and Pyro, who were both giving me sideway glances. I heard the name Sasha, and turned to the Scout. "Who's Sasha?" I asked in a whisper.

"His minigun." He replied with a barely supressed laugh. "Sad innit? Guy loves his gun so much, got a little bed for it." I didn't know whether to laugh or feel honoured. The giant had offered me the bed of his beloved gun. It was a nice, if somewhat unusual gesture, but I decided to keep out of the conversation. Besides, I wouldn't fit in the bed anyway. The gun couldn't be that big. Could it?

"Hey," the Scout said after a few seconds of heated arguing about whether or not the Common Room couch was an appropriate place for a lady to spend the night. "Some of us have bunk beds, ya' know." The men all turned to look at him, as if they'd only just realised we were still there. I saw the Sniper lift one eyebrow quirkily at the Scout's next words. "She could always take the top bunk in my room."

I felt my heart summersault. Share a room with a boy? After _that? _But no, no… The Scout wasn't _him. _I can't be paranoid all my life.

"Hmm, not a bad idea," the Medic nodded.

"What d'ya think about that kiddo?" Engineer asked, "Would you mind sharing rooms with Scout?"

I was trying very, very hard to keep the blush off my face and the quiver out of my voice. "Um no, that would be fine with me," I said, deliberately avoiding the teenager's gaze, "I'll share a room with Scout."

"Sweet!" the boy said with a face-wide grin, "I have a roomie!" His eagerness was already rubbing off on me. The boy didn't seem half bad. Maybe it would be nice to actually have a friend for a change.

"I suppose there's no other alternative," the Medic reasoned as he rubbed his chin. "The only other person with room for two is…"

"Spy." And it was only then that I noticed the lack of the man's presence in the conversation. We had been so caught up making introductions and planning sleeping arrangements that I'd completely forgot about the Frenchman that had got me unnerved in the first place. My new teammates parted now, all turning to look at him where they're left him; sitting at the table with a cigarette hanging from his lips. He looked at ease, as if this was something he was used to repeatedly. When he felt our eyes on him, he sighed and rolled his eyes, taking the fag out of his mouth and tapping the buds out onto the floor.

"I do not ave bunk beds mes amis, I ave a double bed," he said, looking at his male teammates. Then suddenly, he shifted his attention to me. His blue eyes pierced mine as he spoke. "She is welcome to share it with me if she so wishes, but I dare say, she vould not enjoy it nearly as much as I vould." That last sentence was a promise, laced with what I was not quite sure was a threat. His voice was like a cello; deep, slow, and precise without a single falter in his words. I could still feel the syllables vibrating in my chest as I shuddered slightly. I knew absolutely nothing about this man other than his class name, and already I knew he was a person I would do best to avoid. Just the look in his eye was enough to give me a taste of the intention behind his words. No, I had no desire to spend my nights pressed up against this strange man. Unsurprisingly enough, neither did the Scout.

"No chance Frenchie," he said in a much darker voice than I'd heard him use before. "Aid's bunkin' with me." From under my lashes, I saw the lean muscles in his arm tense as he closed his fingers into fists. Something told me these two didn't exactly get along. I could see the same look of hatred in the Spy's eye. Only in him, it carried with it a sense of mockery and amusement.

"Why, you offend me mon ami," he said in an over-exaggerated show of surprise, "I assure you, my intentions were nothing but honourable." He had stood up now in a perfect display of his feline grace and walked over to us with ghostly hushed steps. "It shocks me zat you would think I would be capable of 'urting zis petite delicacy." His last sentence he spoke with a low, husky tone, just inches from my face after he'd bent down to level with me. My entire body erupted in gooseflesh as his vanilla-scented breath brushed against my skin in the most unpleasant of ways. If I didn't know better, I would insist he could hear my heart thrumming furiously against my ribcage as my brain unearthed memories I was constantly trying to bury. He of course, had noticed my discomfort, and gave me a dagger smile in response.

"Well that's quite enough of that," the Engineer piped in, breaking the tension that had mounted. He still seemed to be smiling, but I didn't miss the way his hand tightened around my arm as he steered me away from the masked man. I suspect he did it for the Scout's sake as much as mine, especially seeing as his other hand had a deadlock grip on the boy's upper arm. "Why don't you get her settled in to her bed for the night boy, and we'll clean up round here," he suggested gently, but even I didn't miss the authority hidden in his speech.

"Yeh, whatever you say Engie," the Scout said darkly, still glaring at the Spy. It didn't escape my notice that the boy wasn't the only one giving the man strange looks. The Sniper and the Demo too had their eyes fixed firmly on him. The Pyro might have been looking as well, but there was just no way to confirm with that eerie mask hiding his features. "Come on," he said to me, taking over the Engineer's grip on my arm as he pulled me behind him. "Night fellas."

"Goodnight," several voices replied in unsion. And then, a lone "_pleasant dreams" _in a French accent rang in my ears after the other voices had died down. But by then, Scout and I were already out of the door and walking in the corridor.

"Ah man, this is gonna be great!" He'd already perked up, and as soon as we'd rounded a corner, that cocky grin was back on his face. "Never had a roomie before!"

"Me neither," I admitted, a small smile playing on my lips. His attitude was infectious, and I found myself forgetting the earlier incident with the Spy, and focusing on the boy leading me to his room instead. He'd let go of my arm now, and I had to walk at a brisk pace to keep up with him, or risk getting lost in the maze of endless corridors.

"You're gonna love it," he insisted, "I am _great _company."

I laughed at his ridiculously large ego as we bolted up some stairs. "I'm sure I will Scout," I humoured him. "Hey, can you slow down a bit? I can't keep up all that well," I admitted as I saw him pick up the pace.

"No need!" he said, resting his bandaged hand on a doorknob. "We're here." I hadn't even seen the door until he'd pushed it open. And I do mean pushed, as in, he put all his weight against it and forced it open. As soon as I walked in behind him, it wasn't hard to see why. The room was a mess. The lower bunk was undone, with sheets hanging off the mattress in knots. Clothes were strewn all across the room, and I graciously averted my gaze from what was clearly a pair of boxers lying on his bedside table. Baseballs lay strewn in every corner, along with a couple of bats here and there. But most notably were the cans of some energy drink occupying literally every corner. The stuff was everywhere. Under the bed, on the windowsill, piled around the door to create a barricade, and even high up on the wardrobe top.

"Damn."

"I know, great huh?" he beamed. But then he seemed to catch the look on my face as I took in the sheer number of empty cans, and hesitated. "I mean, yeh it could use some cleaning up," he admitted. "But hey, your bed's completely clean," he assured me, "I've never even so much as sat on it. Well I did, once, but I'd accidentally tossed a ball up there and I had to get it back, y'know?"

I laughed at his attempt to justify the apocalyptic scenario before us. Seeing as the rest of the room looked like a bomb had just gone off, crumpled bed sheets were the least of my concerns. "It's fine Scout, really," I assured him with an amused shake of the head. "A little mess never killed anyone. Though, that's stretching the term '_little_' a bit too far…"

"You work with what you got toots," he said, closing the door behind me. "Besides, if I knew you were comin over, I'd have cleaned up a bit. I thought you were gonna be another middle aged guy, so I didn't really bother."

"Nice to know you're such the hospitable type Scout," I joked, warming up to the boy.

"Not my style sweetcheeks," he said with a wink. "Speakin of which, dontcha have any luggage?" he asked, staring at my empty hands.

"They told me my luggage would arrive here sometime after I did."

"An who told you that?" he asked, kicking a few cans out of the way until he'd cleared a path to the bed.

"The Administrator."

"You aint seeing your stuff for a week then," he joked. "They probably already have it, they just need time to sift through it. Or stick trackers in them or whatever those crazy creeps at Mann Co do when they're not looking at us beatin each other to death."

I assumed he was kidding. Sure, the whole company struck me as odd, even when I'd gone in for the briefing, but they couldn't possibly be that paranoid about their employees, could they? "Is that what they did to you?" I asked, my curiosity winning out despite my better judgement.

"Could be, I never asked. My luggage just showed up with the rest of the mail one morning, and when I opened it, my clothes were in a worse state than my room is now. Sick fuckers probably had a real laugh groping my underwear." He walked over to his bed and sat on the mattress with a muffled _Thunk. _"Anyways, you can borrow some of my shirts for a while if you want toots, can't have you running about in your bra with that spook around." I didn't miss the way his voice darkened when he spoke about Spy. "Speakin of which, you might wanna lock the door tonight. I usually just leave it open, but then I don't usually have a dame with me. And that guy, he's a bit messed up in the head, y'know?"

I shuddered a bit as I slid the bolt in place on the door, fighting the rising wave of nausea that came with thinking about the masked man. If its state of disrepair was anything to go by, the lock hadn't been used in ages. I noted with some distaste that if the Spy really wanted to get in, the mediocre bolt would do nothing to block his path. But still, I felt better knowing it was there, if only to alert me to someone trying to break in. I had gotten _very _paranoid like that. I surprised the Scout (and myself) by sitting down next to him on the bed as soon as I'd locked the door. "So," I said, looking at the way he played with the bandages on his hand as I spoke, "How do things work around here?"

"Whaddaya mean?" he asked uncertainly. I could see the way his eyes fought to stay open as he spoke, and soon enough, his mouth stretched open into a soundless yawn. The boy was obviously tired, but he wasn't going to tell me himself out of some pride thing, so I decided to keep it short.

"Ok, well, um," I mentally flipped through the enormous amounts of queries I had, and decided on the most immediate one. "What time do we wake up tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow's a ceasefire day, so we can sleep in 'till nine," he beamed happily. He stole a glance at the clock that was hanging crookedly atop his dresser. "Well, today actually. It's almost one."

"We should probably get some sleep then," I suggested with a soft smile. His face erupted in a goofy smile, obviously eager to get to bed. I sat up, and accidentally kicked away one of the cans. As I walked away from the boy, I saw the name printed on the label: _Bonk! Atomic Punch. _I turned and the boy was lazily pulling off his shirt to reveal smooth, faintly scarred skin. "You shouldn't drink all this soda you know," I said, tugging my own shirt up, "it's bad for you."

"You sound so much like my Ma, it hur- Aw jeez!" The Scout interrupted his own sentence when he'd turned his eyes back on me. He was now looking away, an adorable blush playing on his cheeks.

I had no idea what had caused this sudden show of bashfulness until I looked down at myself. My undershirt had hiched up along with my shirt to bare my pale stomach and the faintest trace of my black bra. I supressed an inner laugh and pulled down the undergarment before proceeding to take off my shirt and headset. _And I thought I was sensitive about this stuff._ I decided to leave my trousers on and wriggle out of them as soon as I was up in my bunk. I walked to the boy. "It's alright Scout, I've got a vest on," I reassured him with a chuckle. "Nothing to see."

He turned his head slowly, as if he didn't quite believe me. But when he saw that yes, I actually was clothed, he turned all the way and gave me a goofy grin. "Thought you were one of the eager types for a second there Aid."

"Me? Nah," I said with a playful punch to his arm and a somewhat sad smile. "Takes a lot more than that to get me in my underwear mate," I assured him.

He cocked an eyebrow. "Oh Yeah?" he challenged.

"Certainly," I said, realising that I had gone back to the formal speech I had grown accustomed to using whenever I got uncomfortable. But I liked this boy already, so I lightened my mood by teasing him and sticking out my tongue childishly before walking to the bunk beds. "Pleasant dreams Scout."

"Nighty night sweetcheeks!" he called up to me as I climbed the wooden ladder. I heard him land on his bed a few seconds after I sat down on mine.

I smiled to myself, maybe this place wouldn't be so bad. I went to lay my head on the untouched pillow, and found a hard lump pressing into my cheeks. Startled, I reached my hand underneath, and my fingers curled around something round and solid.

"Hey Scout?"

"Yeh toots?"

"Found your baseball."


	3. Chapter 3

I had bad dreams that night.

_"I see you and I just want to throw up. I can feel the bile in my throat every bloody time I make the mistake of looking your way. You just sit there, doing nothing, staring at the blank wall like some cabbage. You disgust me._

_Oh, you're crying now? Stop that. I SAID STOP THAT. As if you don't look ugly enough with all those tubes coming out of you, you want to make it worse? I can't take one more second of your bickering, so you better shut the fuck up, or I'll shut you up myself. There, was that so hard? Oh wait, I forgot you're an idiot; everything is hard for you to do._

_The surgeons tell me you might not make it. They say the heart's too weak; can't take all the meds they're pumping you with. God I wish they're right. What it must be like to be rid of you eh? But I don't believe them. Just my luck, you're one of the strong ones. No matter what happens, you never, bloody, die. Might just kill you myself one of these days… How bout now? You see that pipe? Yeh, that one right there; the green one. All I have to do it squeeze it and stop your oxygen flow. Just like this…"_

"MAGGOTS!"

_BAM, _my head connected with the ceiling. A wave of pain immediately shot through the nerves in my scalp as I fought to make sense of my surroundings. _BAM, _followed by a "fucking hell" told me that the Scout too had woken up in a rush and rammed his head against the underside of my bed. I rubbed my already aching skull and blinked the tears away from my eyes. I wasn't sure if they were due to the recent maltreatment to my cranium, or as a result of the nightmare that was still clouding my thought processes. I decided it was some mixture of both and turned my focus instead on the huge burly figure standing in the doorway.

"FRONT AND CENTRE YOU LAZY GOOD FOR NOTHINGS."

"Holy…Did you just KICK DOWN MY DOOR?" the Scout yelled at the man in shock. He had tried getting out of bed, only to trip on a rouge baseball bat and fall face-down on the clattered floor. He had his left arm hooked around one of the rungs on the ladder now and was trying to pull himself back up. It would have been funny if I knew what on earth was going on.

"Watch how you talk to me son!" the man said in a stern, military sort of tone. "And get your sorry behind off the ground boy, you're embarrassing yourself in front of the lady." It was a wonder he could even tell I was there at all. His helmet was so far down over his eyes I could barely believe he could see the Scout, much less me all the way up in the top bunk. But see me he did, because his next order was addressed directly at me. "Did you not hear me maggot?! Front and centre private!"

With that, I scrambled into action. I mentally thanked whatever god was watching over me that I'd decided to wear boxers the previous day, or I'd have been standing next to a ruffled, bare chested Scout in my underwear. The boxers, at least, could pass for shorts. It was only when I was directly before the man did I realise the full extent of his height. And back home, they used to say _I _was tall. All these men made me look like a pitiful dwarf in comparison. But this man in particular, was making me feel insignificant. I could practically feel the authority leaking from every pore in his body even as I stood in front of him with my hands crossed behind my back and my head bowed down to stare at his boot-clad feet.

"Name and rank private," the man bellowed in the same voice.

"Katie, Sir," I said, not even bothering to present my right hand to have it shaken as I'd been brought up to do, "Katie Davidson. I'm your new Aid."

"From now on you will get up at six am until I tell you otherwise little lady," he said without so much as moving his head to look at me. "Is that understood?"

"Yes sir, of course sir," I replied. I noticed my voice was a bit squeakier than before. It was probably because I was trying hard to contain the shock that came with hearing my new rising hour. _Six in the morning? _I didn't even get up that early for school.

"Very well maggots," the man said, oblivious to my change in voice. "Boy, make sure you are both dressed and downstairs by 0800 hours. Am I clear?"

"Sir yes sir," the Scout said with a bored yawn.

"Dismissed!" the man said as he marched out the door.

The Scout turned to look at me, his dog tags clinging together from the motion. "Ouch, six am, that sucks," he said with a wince.

"Who was that?" I asked, unwilling to discuss anything else before I knew who had just barged down our bedroom door at 7:35 in the morning. The door itself was still just lying there on the ground, probably crushing a couple dozen Bonk cans beneath its weight.

"That's just Solly," he said with a nonchalant shrug.

"Solly?" I asked.

"Yeh, as in, Soldier?" he explained, bending down beside the smashed-in door. "Holy crap, the fucker tore the thing right out by the hinges," he exclaimed.

"He wasn't there yesterday though, was he?" I strained my memory, but I doubted that even in my tired state I would forget someone like him. He was just the type of man that demanded to have his presence known.

"Nah, yesterday was his day off," he said as he tried to lift the door off the ground. "He was supposed to come back in later today, but probably couldn't keep away from the place any longer and clocked back in early. The guy's a freak like that," he explained. He had succeeded in resting the deceased door against the empty frame, just enough to obstruct their view should anyone pass by outside. "Well, that's all I can do," he said, staring at the pitiful excuse for a door.

"I'll try and fix it later," I offered.

"No rush," he joked while wading through the sea of junk to his closet. "Guess we should just get ready. He gets annoying when you don't do what he wants, so we just humour him most of the time." The Scout had his back to me as he pulled out a light blue shirt from one of the hangers. "I mean, he's alright, most of the time, but the guy can get on your nerves sometimes y'know?" While he spoke, I reached for my trousers and pulled them on before he could turn around. "There's only so much military crap a guy can take before he snaps." He turned around, fully clothed and pulling a baseball cap down over his undercut hair. "Ready to go?"

"Um."

"What's wrong?" he asked furrowing his brow.

"You said something about lending me a shirt last night?" I asked, pointing to my vest.

"Oh yeh!" he said, turning back round and pulling an identical shirt off the rack to match his own. "Here ya go sweetcheeks," he grinned as he handed me the shirt. "It probably won't fit well, but you can roll up the sleeves if they bother you or anything."

"Thank you," I said graciously as I took the clothing from his hand. I pulled it down over my head, and sure enough, I was practically swimming in the shirt. At least rolling up the sleeves made it somewhat better, even if they refused to stay put, but it would do in a pinch.

"Lookin good toots," the Scout said as soon as I was ready to go. He turned and moved the door out of the way so we could get out. "Blue looks good on ya, goes with your eyes."

I could almost swear that every red blood cell in my body had hitchhiked their way to my cheeks. My face was on fire as I followed him down the same corridor we'd come through the previous night. He only had to look back to see my interpretation of a tomato. I knew it had to disappear though, and fast, because I was starting to hear voices from a room up ahead. Judging by the heavenly smell of toast and coffee, we were heading to the cafeteria for breakfast. My stomach growled in anticipation, and I could feel the blush starting to fade as the hunger took its place. Just in time too.

"Mornin!" Engineer greeted us as soon as we walked in. He was carrying a tray piled with mountains of toast so high I was worried he would trip and send them flying across the room. But trip he did not, instead, he walked to the huge wooden table with ease and lay down the toast in front of six eager men. The Engineer had barely got his fingers out of the way before a jumble of hands reached out for the bread at once. Even though there was a lot to begin with, as soon as the clutter of hands cleared there were only a couple of slices left sitting at the bottom. And no wonder; the Heavy and Soldier had taken six pieces each all on their own and were already guzzling them down by the time I took a seat between Scout and Engie.

"Sweet," the former remarked as he snagged three pieces onto his own plate. "Hey where's Mumbles with the eggs?"

"Keep your pants on boy and eat your toast," the Engineer sighed. "And for the love of God, don't call him Mumbles; I've told you a thousand times and a thousand times you've ignored me."

Scout shrugged. "Why, s'not like he can understand me anyways," he said through a mouthful of toast. As he formed the words, a spray of crumbs came shooting out his overstuffed mouth. "Where's the Bonk?"

"In the fridge where it always is," the man replied. Not that the Scout was there to hear him; he was already halfway to the fridge before the sentence was done spilling from Engineer's mouth. "That boy's gonna drive you insane little lady," he said with a shake of the head.

"Oh, no, it's alright," I assured him. Sure, the Scout was …eccentric, but he didn't annoy me, not really. "May I have some toast?"

"Well there's a shocker," the Sniper remarked through his half-eaten slice. "Someone with manners for a change."

"What did you expect mate, the lassie's a Redcoat," the Demo laughed. I could smell the Scrumpy on his breath from here, and he was sitting on the opposite end of the table. He slapped the Australian on the back with a little too much strength and the skinnier man staggered a little.

"Aid is enemy Red?" the Heavy asked, a look of pure confusion decorating his pudgy face.

"Nein Herr Heavy, zat is just vat we call the British. Aid is from England," the Medic explained to the giant. Perhaps it was just me, but I could swear the doctor said it with a little hidden jibe.

"Holy crap, you're English?" Scout asked, only just returning with two cans in his hands.

"You're only getting this now?" I teased him, somewhat bemused. "What, the accent wasn't enough of a giveaway?"

"You didn't say much before hittin the hay last night, how was I s'post to know?" he pouted.

"You were the one yawning to go to bed, not me," I reminded him with a smile. From across the table, I saw the Sniper strike the table wood his fist.

"Damn it," he said, and the Engineer laughed. "Alright mate, you win this time," he muttered, pulling something out of his trousers and handing it to the man in overalls. When the object crossed my vision, I could see it was a crumpled five dollar bill. I looked sceptically at the Engineer, but he just chuckled and winked at me. The Scout was so focused on devouring his breakfast he missed the entire exchange altogether. Weird.

"Um, so may I have some toast?" I asked again.

"Of course darlin," the Engineer said, pushing the tray towards me. "There's coffee too if you want some."

"Oh, no that's alright," I said, taking one slice and putting it on the plate in front of me. I avoided eye contact with anyone on the table as I spoke. "This is going to sound a bit stereotypical, but I only drink tea in the morning."

"Tea is for the weak! Coffee is the beverage of men, private!" the Soldier bellowed, spraying an irritated Medic full of toast and saliva.

"I'm a girl…" I mumbled under my breath, so I doubt anyone heard me.

"Well I don't think we have any tea at the moment, but I'll have Pyro put it on the list of supplies to get," Engineer assured me.

"Thank you." Oh yes, I liked this man very much.

"What the fuck's holding him up anyway?" Scout yelled above the general chatter at the table. Just then, a deafening roar, like the sound of a blazing inferno, erupted from the kitchen. It was accompanied by loud, maniacal laughter.

"Ach, not again," the Medic groaned. He rubbed his temples with closed eyes. "Zat's the third time zis month."

"Dang nabit boy, I left you with the stove for five minutes," the Engineer yelled as he ran towards the kitchen upon hearing the noise. "I told you to cook the damn eggs, not start a bonfire!"

"There goes another stove," the Sniper remarked. "They're gonna stop replacing them if that mute menace keeps blowing them up."

"I'm going to assume 'Pyro' stands for 'Pyromaniac'," I said with wide eyes when another bout of muffled, high pitched laughter erupted from the kitchen.

"I think it originally ztood for 'Pyrotechnician'," the Medic explained. "But Pyromaniac iz a much better description." Go figure, I could hear Engineer wrestling with a fire extinguisher from my seat. It also sounded like he was simultaneously trying to pin someone to the ground, but I tried not to dwell on that too much.

"So no eggs, I take it."

It was a joke of course, I couldn't eat anything else even if I'd wanted to, but the Heavy still looked down at me all concerned. Before I even knew what was happening, he'd upturned the tray on my plate, dropping the six remaining pieces, crumbs and all, in front of me. "Leetle Aid must have toast. Tiny baby girl needs to eat to grow big and strong, like Heavy."

"Oh," I said in shock. "Thank you, but I ca-"

"Oh I think she's 'ad quite enough to eat." The voice came so suddenly and so unexpectedly that it sent cold, icy tremors down my spine the second the syllables reached my ears. I didn't have to turn to know that it was the Spy that was standing right behind me. I had recognized his voice; I didn't think it would be one I'd be forgetting any time soon. I knew he would have to come in at some point; I'd noticed he wasn't sitting at the table after all, but I didn't expect him to move like a damn cat. His sudden presence at my back unnerved me for far too many reasons. "I'm sure she would like a glass of water though, non?" He walked around me, and his eyes lit up with a dangerous spark. "I 'ear it 'elps to balance ze acid in ze stomach." _No way. No, no, no… He can't know about __**that**__. Nobody can know about __**that**__. _"Very important, or so I 'ave learned recently."

I gulped. Slowly, heavily, and painfully. The entire table had fallen mute. The only noise breaking the icy sheet of silence was the Pyro's laughter and the occasional cuss from Engineer. Apart from that, all the attention had suddenly fallen on the very obvious tension between me and Spy. I could feel all their eyes on me, making my efforts to keep my hands from shaking almost useless. I suddenly didn't know what to do with them anymore, my hands. I dropped what remained of my toast on top of the mess Heavy had made and hid them in my lap. I knew what he was doing, I just didn't know why.

I gathered all my courage. I knew that if I let him win this one, he'd win them all. God only knows how he found out about _that. _But I simply refused to let the masked Frenchman get the better of me. _No,_ I decided, _not today. _"Why yes," I said to him in the steadiest voice I could manage. "Water would be lovely, _monsieur._" I stared at him long and hard, but the man did not flinch. If anything, his grin only seemed to widen.

He sighed theatrically. "Let it not be known zat I was not a gentlemen to ze ladies," he declared, walking towards the faucet with long, soundless strides. If looks could kill, I'd have burned a three-foot hole in the middle of his back as he filled a tall glass with water. Then again, if looks could affect the victim I'd have been crushed by the enormous weight of my teammates' gazes. The Scout tapped his knee against mine in silent questioning, but I shook my head without looking at him. "_Later," _I whispered to him. Later? What exactly was I going to tell him _later? _It's not like I could tell him about _that. _

"Here," the Spy sneered, shoving the full glass towards my face and nearly causing it to overspill on me. "Enjoy."

"Thank you," I said in a monotone voice.

"My pleasure," he growled. I was about to look away when he did the unexpected. He sat down in Engineer's empty seat. Next to me. Right next to me. I flinched, and reacted too quickly. I scooted to the far side of my seat, as far away from the man as possible. I was elbow to elbow with the scout, and the boy had noticed my discomfort. Hell, everyone had noticed my discomfort. It was as plain on my face as my nose was. Possibly even more. For all it was worth, the Spy seemed unfazed, and simply leaned back into his chair. Without speaking further he pulled out a cigarette and began to smoke.

The Medic cleared his throat, breaking the spell that had cast everyone into a silent reverie. "Perhaps ve should discuss ze Aid's training."

"Training?" I asked, happy for the distraction.

"Of course," the man replied. "Each team haz been given one week of ceasefire to train zer new Aid; One day for each class."

I did some quick calculations. "Aren't there nine of you?"

"Vell yes, but you won't be needing to train with Her Heavy and Pyro," The Medic said, nodding towards the large man. "Their jobs are simply too dangerous for you. And zey can manage on zer own."

"Aid is too tiny, smaller than Sasha. Not strong enough to carry heavy weapons," Heavy explained, using his hands to illustrate the size of his gun. Damn, that thing was big.

"Yes. Today you start with me. Tomorrow, with Soldier," Medic continued. As he listed the names, I realised some very unsettling fact. "Then Demo, Sniper, Engineer, Scout_, _and finally, Spy." The fact being that I would have to spend an entire day in the presence of the latter.

"Zis should be interesting," he commented in a volume so low I was sure nobody but myself could hear. I comforted myself with the fact that I had six full days before my time with the Spy. Perhaps his attitude would improve. Or maybe not, I thought, as I shot him a sideways glance. His eyes still glistened like light caught on the edge of a dagger. What I'd have given to wipe that look off his face.

"Alright," I said in response to the Medic. "So, six thirty each day?" I asked of the others.

"Six thirty?" the Sniper asked in shock. "No way mate, that's too bloody early. Don't knock on my door before nine."

"Aye lassie, why'd you want to get up so early?" the Demo asked me.

"Soldier told me," I admitted.

"Before each and every day of your training you will be subjected to two hours of intense exercise to prepare you for the field of battle young lady!" the Soldier barked. _Should have seen that one coming, _I thought. "I will turn you into a soldier even if it kills you." _Well doesn't that sound lovely._

"Do try not to kill her, ve need her," the Medic sighed. He looked at me. "If you're quite finished vit your food, we vill begin today's training child."

I nodded and made to stand up. "You ave not touched your water," the Spy interrupted with a jab in his voice.

"Huh, seems like I didn't feel like water after all." The rest of the men around the table laughed as I one-upped the Spy. It would have been a glorious moment, if Scout wasn't such a good guy.

"Hey, wanna try my Bonk?" he asked, handing me the blue can. "It's real good." I looked at the labe. _Blutonium Cherry; Now with 33% more real radiation, _it read. I knew what would happen if I drank something like that. The results were none too pleasant, and I tried to avoid them as much as humanly possible. I was about to decline myself when the Spy went and put his foot in it.

"Mais oui Aid, why not try ze disgusting concoction? I am sure you will love it." It was a dare, there was no question about it. Even if I couldn't see his eyes, I knew they were glistening again. _Bastard._

I swallowed my fear and held the rim of the can to my lips. _Bottoms up. _I was careful to only take a delicate mouthful of the liquid, but it would be enough to bring about the consequences. "Thank you," I said to the Scout, handing him back the drink. "Tastes sweet." Sweet was an understatement. The punch was like bubbly, liquid sugar. It wasn't all that bad, but I couldn't imagine how someone could stand to drink so much of it in so little time. A couple more sips for me and it would have become nauseating. But it didn't seem to have any effect on the Scout, who downed the rest of the can in a heartbeat as soon as it was back in his hands.

"No problem toots," he said with a wink.

"Come, _now._" The Medic startled me by suddenly appearing behind me and grabbing my arm in an angry grip. I didn't have time to hesitate or he'd have ripped my limb off. I had no choice but to follow him as he pulled me out of my seat and out into the hallway. I couldn't understand his sudden bout of temper. Was he really that eager to start my training that I couldn't afford a few seconds to have a sip? Whatever it was, it seemed to rub him the wrong way because he didn't let go of my arm as he dragged me through corridor after endless corridor. He didn't say anything either, so I shifted instead my focus on trying to remember our route. I gave up after the second intersection. But we must have been getting close, because the stink of antiseptic and bleach, as the Sniper had said, soon began to burn my nose. It only got stronger the deeper we went into the building, until finally I was pulled through a large door. The sign outside read "Medical Ward." The Doctor only let go of my arm once he'd locked the door behind him one-handed. I had to admit, I was rather creeped out by that point. When he heard the lock _click, _he turned to me, anger burning in his eyes.

"Vhy did you drink the Bonk Dumkopf?" Well, I wasn't expecting that.

"W-What?" I stammered, caught off guard by the question.

"The Bonk, child. Vhy did you drink it?" he repeated, his anger escalating with each word.

"I wanted to try it out." It was a weak excuse, but I had no idea why it would concern him in the first place. He, of course, saw through it immediately.

"Nein, do not lie," he growled, clenching his teeth. "I am your doctor girl, you cannot hide zis things from me. You cannot drink strong liquids, so vhy did you drink zat infernal death juice?" I stared at him open-mouthed. "Yes, yes, of course I know," he confirmed after seeing the look on my face. "I needed full access to your medical records if I am to heal you on ze battlefield," he explained, rubbing his temples.

_He knows. _That was the only thought rushing through my head at that moment. _He knows, he knows, he knows. _How could I have been so stupid to think nobody would find out? Of course the doctor would know, how could he not? Medical records were like an open book to the past, and I had more than a few pages in my novel. I'd lost count of how many times I'd been admitted to the hospital throughout the miserable course of my life. All I knew was that it was a lot. An awful lot. And some of them with varying levels of suspicious circumstances; bashed in baby teeth, broken legs, electrocution, strangulation bruises… Hydrogen Peroxide ingestion.

My stomach gave a jolt just then, and I felt my insides begin to ignite. The small sip of Bonk I had dared to swallow was doing its dirty work on my fragile digestive track. I knew, from more than one experience, that the pain would last for hours until dulling away to a soft throb. I whimpered when stakes of fire embedded themselves in the delicate flesh of my inner stomach. The man's eyes softened when he saw the pain on my face. He sighed heavily. "Wait here," he instructed as he walked away, shaking his head. He came back just a few seconds later, muttering in German before handing me a small, green tablet. "Swallow," he said, and I obeyed him after just a split second of hesitation in which the pain flared again.

It took a few seconds, and then, Bliss. The tablet blurred away all sensation in my stomach until the pain was just a faraway pulse. "Thank you," I said in awe of the medicine's strength, but the Doctor brushed it away.

"Listen child," he said, looking me in the eye. "I have spent the night reading through your files, and I learnt a thing or two about you. Einz, that you had a brush with Hydrogen Peroxide in the last year." He raised his eyebrow when I looked away in embarrassment. "Zwei, that you let your pride get the best of you at times." _So they probably have access to my psychiatric records as well… _The doctor grabbed my chin and made me look at him. "I do not care if you tried to kill yourself by drinking Bleach, but those tablets are expensive. If you let your pride get ze best of you next time, I will not help you. Clear?"

_He thinks I tried to commit suicide by drinking Bleach. _I almost laughed. I wasn't sure if it was better or worse than the actual alternative. _Better, _I decided, or easier to let him believe, at the very least. I saw no reason to correct him, and instead gave him a nod to answer his question. I even smiled. _Suicide, _my subconscious laughed, _of all things. _But hey, this was easier. I could live with him thinking I was some depressed, suicidal teenager. And the Spy too, if he so wished. I was almost certain that the masked man had found out about the peroxide, probably by breaking into my files. But it didn't matter. It was actually quite funny. He thought he knew something about my past. It was so amusing I was shaking slightly from the silent laughter. I hadn't even noticed the doctor walking away.

"Oh good, you're better," he remarked when he saw me smile. The smile disintegrated when I saw the thing in his hand. "If you vould be so kind as to pull up your sleeve." He held up the enormous syringe. "Zis will only hurt for a second."

_Bullocks._


	4. Chapter 4

"Ouch, Scout!"

The boy had just poked my arm after I'd specifically told him not to. That syringe had left a nasty bruise after the Medic extracted a pint of my blood for testing. It wasn't that I'd believed him when he'd denied long-lasting pain, but I didn't think it would leave a bruise _that _big either. Now it had a band aid over it, but that still didn't stop the Scout from trying to poke it again.

"Touch it one more time, and I'll feed you your own socks," I threatened him good-naturedly, but he only laughed in response.

"Couldn't help it, you're such a freakin crybaby!"

"Am not," I denied with a pout.

"It was a tiny needle! How much could it hurt?" he asked, his voice taking on a higher pitch. I noticed he did that whenever he was on the verge of laughing.

"There was nothing tiny about that needle mate, believe me," I said, recalling the size of the thing. "I have no idea what he plans to do with all that blood, he took so much."

"It's weird," he said after he stopped laughing, "I don't remember him taking any of my blood when I got here. He just scanned me for the Medi-gun."

"Yeah, he did that too." I had stared at the enormous gun for a good few minutes before I started paying attention to the doctor again. A gun that heals on the spot. Was it even physically possible? How did something like that even work? Did it only work on battle wounds? Or could it even heal… other things? "That machine is impossibly incredible, and incredibly impossible."

"You use long words," he said, scratching his head underneath his hat. We were sitting in our room, he on his bed, and me on the floor in a patch I'd managed to clear of the general clutter. As soon as I'd got back from my training with the Medic, I'd collapsed on Scout's bed. I hadn't meant to fall asleep, but before I knew it, I was being shaken awake by an amused Scout. It had been six thirty then. It was seven fifteen now, and we were just killing time before heading down to dinner at eight.

"I apologize if my vast vocabulary is too advanced for your inferior self to comprehend," I said, intentionally using a stream of fancy English to tick him off.

"Inferior my ass, you aint got nothing on me toots," he smirked confidently. "Those big words aint gon get you anywhere on the battlefield. It's street smarts and strength you need here."

"I'm ok with the first one, not so sure about the second though," I admitted. "I'm not exactly England's star heavyweight champion."

"Do I look like a steroid-guzzlin wrestler to you?" he asked with a quirky eyebrow. "Liftin heavy objects isn't my thing, but I'm good at what I do. And If I'm good at what I do, then I'm strong. Soon as I start slackin, I get weak. The trick is to keep at it every day."

I allowed myself a private smile. For someone who had the impulses of a five-year-old, he had the right idea. I looked up to the boy from my position on the floor, and found him beaming down at me. His two front teeth stuck out ever so slightly than the rest, and from my angle, he looked like a hyperactive chipmunk who'd just found a stash of acorns. _Definitely cute, _I decided. With a certain degree of shame, I realised I didn't even know what the boy's job on the team was. "Hey Scout, what exactly do you do?"

"Everything," he replied with the smuggiest of smug looks on his face.

"Uh-huh." I intentionally aimed to sound unimpressed, and it worked.

"No kiddin, they'd be a mess without me," he insisted. "I capture the points, I steal the enemy intelligence, I bonk the crap out of Red, AND," he said, counting everything on his fingers, "I run faster than a speeding bullet."

"No way," I denied, shaking my head.

"It's the truth!"

"Do you know how fasts bullets move?" I challenged him. "Do you know how fast _you'd _have to move to outrun a bullet? The answer is _very _fast; impossibly fast. There's no way you can run that fast."

He grinned. "Wanna bet?"

"You're on."

"You're gonna lose sweetcheeks," he said confidently as he tipped his hat back. "Nothing moves faster than I do."

"We'll see," I said, mirroring his cocky voice. "What are we betting on?"

"I donno, don't have much to offer," he said, looking quickly around his disordered room. "We usually bet on favours here," he admitted.

"Favours?" I asked. I wasn't sure what he meant by that.

"Yeh, like if you win, I owe you a favour, if I win, you owe me a favour. Kinda like debts y'know? He explained.

I thought it over a couple of seconds. It seemed reasonable enough to me. "You have a deal Scout," I said, offering up my right hand. "Shake on it?"

"Done," he grinned. "Get ready to lose."

"Dream on runner boy," I teased.

"lots of other things to dream about. Losing aint one of 'em," he assured me, retracting his hand from my grip and falling back onto his mattress. "By the way, almost forgot to tell ya, you should probably hit the showers now. Everyone else usually goes after dinner on ceasefire days. Don't think you wanna be caught up in a room full of naked old guys." He shivered. "Specially if fatty forgets his pants again. Lemme tell you, you do NOT want to see that."

I stood up. "No I do not," I agreed. Instinctively, I walked towards the closet like I usually did back home, only to remember that I wasn't at home, and more importantly, that I didn't have any clothes. "Ah crap," I muttered.

"What's up?" Scout asked from his bed.

"I don't really have any clothes to change into, remember?" I sighed. How long were they going to keep my damn suitcase anyway? I had vitals in there! "Nor soap either."

"Oh, um…" I would have bet my life that the Scout's face was burning like there was no tomorrow as he spoke. "You could always… Borrow some of my stuff."

"Really?" I deliberately didn't look at him. He wasn't the only one blushing like a fire hydrant. "You don't mind?"

"Yeh sure, no problem… What's mine's yours." He still didn't get up. "Just um… make sure they're clean."

I opened the closet door. Picked up the first pair of folded underwear. Dug around a bit and found socks and another shirt. I could stay in my own trousers again. "Thanks." _Was my face on fire? _"Where's the bathroom?"

"Right down the hall. My locker combination's 2326. There's towels in the racks."

"2326. Right. Thanks." I was out of there so fast _I _was almost faster than a bullet. I let out a small laugh when I was out of the Scout's earshot. It was embarrassing yes, but it was also rather funny.

It didn't take long to find the showers. They were actually quite close to our room, so at least there was that. They were also, thank god, completely deserted. It was a good thing they were too. Each shower stall was separated only by a thin sheet of wood. They were short enough to let you have a decent conversation with the person next to you. Ideal for nine male mercenaries. Not so much for an eighteen year old girl. _Good thing the Scout remembered, _I thought as I placed the borrowed clothes on one of the benches. _2326. _Right, the locker.

"Shite." He'd forgotten to tell me which one was his, and in my embarrassed state, I'd forgot to ask. I was about to turn back, when I spotted it. "Of course." It could be no other than the one overrun with baseball stickers. I had noticed more of his room as we sat speaking that day. He had more baseball posters than he had actual wall. I didn't recognize any one of them though. I didn't play the sport and I never followed it. _2326. _The locker sprung open, and I pulled out two bottles that read 'Shampoo' and 'Shower Gel' respectively. The contents were coloured a bright, fluorescent green, and when I popped the lid, they smelled like mint and apples. Quite nice really.

I was weary of getting naked, especially considering anyone could just walk in at any second. But I didn't have time to hesitate, 8pm was getting closer, and I was getting rather hungry. Quick as a flash, I pulled off my clothes and stepped into the stream of hot water. I couldn't recall ever showering so quick in my life, but my paranoia was fuelled when I saw something shift in the corner of my eye. I looked quickly, but there was nothing there, so I assumed it was just the steam fogging up my vision. I returned my attention back to myself shortly after and opened the products. I squeezed some of the green gel onto my palm and rubbed it into my hair until a soft lather had formed. I noted faintly that the soap smelled the same way his bed did when I'd lain down on it for my unintended nap. I suppose it was the other way round really, but now my bed would smell this way too; like the Scout. I couldn't say I minded very much.

I went about scrubbing and rinsing off the rest of my body quickly. I only slowed down around my upper chest; that area, just below my neck, that was littered with scars. It wasn't that they hurt. Those wounds had healed a long time ago. But I still shivered whenever I traced the outlines with shaky fingertips. The skin might have healed, but the pain of the memories was still as fresh as ever. I pulled my hands away. If I went down that road I'd be in the downpour of hot water all night, lost to events long past and buried. I washed off the last of the soap and closed the taps. No need for that tonight; dwelling on the past wouldn't help me now.

I wrapped myself in a fluffy blue towel off the racks as soon as I stepped out of the steamy stall. There was a smaller one too which I wrapped around my head in an attempt to dry my hair. _Now for the unusual part. _I picked up the boxers and held them at arms' length. In my rush to escape the embarrassing tension of our room, I'd hardly paid attention to what pair I'd chosen. I looked at them now. They were coloured a rich carbon black, and at the edges, a slim rim of charcoal grey. To be fairly honest, they looked almost identical to my own pairs of boxer shorts. It was just the legs that were longer, and sure enough, when I pulled them on, they covered up my thighs much like running shorts did. His socks too were longer than what I was used to, so that when I pulled on my trousers they felt tighter than before due to the extra layers beneath. _But hey, at least I have clothes, _I thought to myself as I pushed my arms out of the shirt I'd borrowed. It differed from the one I was wearing before in that it was long-sleeved, but apart from that they were virtually identical. Size and all. Only the tips of my fingers poked out of the material so that the ends were all wet by the time I was finished tying my damp hair up into a messy ponytail.

When I got back to the room, I found Scout leaning against the empty doorway toying with a baseball in his hands. He'd put a hoodie on over his shirt, and even taken off his hat and headset. When he saw me coming, he grinned, tossing the ball blindly into his room and standing straight. "We're having a cookout!" he said excitedly.

"We are?"

"Yeah! The stove's all beat up and the gas cylinder exploded, so we can't use the kitchen until they replace that stuff. Engie came by and told us to grab some warm clothes and meet them out back for sausages and corn."

I smiled at him. "Sounds good," I said while playing around with the oversized sleeves of the shirt. The Scout noticed and a blush crossed his cheeks.

"Clothes alright?" he asked.

"Uh-huh," I answered, biting down on my lip to stop me from laughing. "Thank you."

"No problem," he shrugged. "You don't have to keep askin, just take what you need until your stuff gets here," he told me.

I nodded with a small blush of my own. "Your clothes are actually quite comfortable," I admitted, signalling for him to take the lead and steer us outside.

"Yeh, you just look so freakin tiny in them," he laughed, walking in front of me.

"Well you're hardly a size eight, are you?" I teased.

"Not a chance toots."

It actually took us a bit longer to get out back then I'd expected. The base wasn't enormous, but it certainly felt that way. I had no idea which way we were going or how the Scout even knew how to get there. I made a mental note to try and familiarise myself with the place as soon as I could. I wasn't always going to have someone guiding me around after all. Eventually though, we did escape the maze of steel and concrete, and walked out into the calm night air. There was quite a bit of land enclosed by a high fence, and beyond that, an endless, vast wilderness stretching out into the moonlit horizon. It was quite peaceful, and mostly uninterrupted save for the occasional pillar of rock reaching up to touch the stars. The enclosed area looked much like any ordinary backyard, except it had no greenery and was occupied instead by small groups of sizeable crates. I noted the BLU logo stamped onto each one as walked past a couple that were stacked up. I didn't have much time to wonder what was in them though. As soon as we were in sight, we were enveloped by the pandemonium that our teammates were making around a small bonfire.

"Good evening," I tried to say to the Engineer when he was in hearing range. I was positive he hadn't heard me, because at the same time that I uttered the first syllable, the Heavy let out a deafening roar.

"No, is MY sausage!" he yelled, snatching the piece of meat that was smaller than his pinkie finger and holding it out behind him. "Soldier have other sausage."

"Unhand my food you communist simpleton!" the Soldier as yelling back. "Go sit in a corner and eat your sour dough while I eat the food of FREEDOM!" He moved so fast, I nearly missed him pouncing onto the fat man's oversized belly. Even though the Russian was nearly three times as large as the Soldier, the latter still managed to knock him over onto his back. Unfortunately for the military man, the Heavy had also succeeded in moving his arm back, just out of the soldier's reach. "Give me the sausage!"

"No!"

"Ach, gentlemen please," the Medic begged, "act your age!"

"Aaaaaaargh!" the Soldier screamed when Heavy brought his fist down onto the man's head. I had little doubt that if it weren't for his helmet, the Soldier's head would have collapsed beneath the gargantuan force.

The doctor shook his head. "Like speaking to children," he remarked just as Soldier brought his boot up against the Russian's jaw.

I saw the Sniper dodge a stray punch without so much as a blink. He seemed at ease in one of the many lawn chairs and was drinking steadily from a dark beer bottle. Judging by his lack of alarm, the two men's behaviour was nothing new. When he saw me staring at the brawl he just smirked and raised his beer in greeting, as if there weren't two men trying to tear each other apart over a sausage just three feet away. I was about to offer a reply when Scout nudged me in the ribs. When I looked at him, he gave me a wink and said, "Watch this."

I would have tried to stop him, if he weren't already standing behind them in the time it took me to blink. _Maybe not so clever on that bet there Katie. _Before they could even notice his presence, the boy plucked the sausage from Heavy's outstretched hand and gobbled it down in one bite. "Too slow fellas!" he taunted, clutching his stomach as he laughed.

It took them a couple of seconds before they realised the boy had cheated them out of their prize. I saw the anger flash suddenly across the Heavy's face, but the Scout was too preoccupied enjoying his victory to noticed the club-sized arm swinging towards him.

"Scout!" I tried to warn him, but it was too late. By the time he'd wiped the cocky smirk off his face to react, the arm had already connected with his midriff and was swiping him back. The boy was quick, but not quick enough it would seem, as he was propelled away at neck-breaking speed, straight into one of the piles of crates. He crashed against the bottom box with a sickening splat, the back of his head erupting in a mist of red. Then, with a deafening crash, the seven other crates plummeted down atop the motionless boy. Amongst the splintering of wood, I heard bones snap and internal organs being squashed in a sickening symphony of sound.

I couldn't move. I willed my muscles to come to life, to twitch, to shake, to do _something, _but it was all in vain. I had to remind myself to breath; my lungs were close to collapsing. A part of me knew my reaction was unneeded. The Medic had gone to great lengths to explain to me the principle of respawn, but still my brain could not accept it. I had seen the boy getting buried beneath tonnes of unmovable weight. I had seen his skull crack open. I had seen him die. How could anyone just accept that?

"Lassie, are ye alright?" the Demoman asked me gently from his spot around the fire. His voice pulled me out of my reverie, and I turned to look at the rest of the men. They were as unfazed as they had been before, perhaps even more so now that the Soldier and Heavy had stopped bickering over their food. I was the only one feeling like I'd just been dunked in ice cold water and left to freeze in the night-time chill. I suspect it must have showed on my face, even if I tried my best to hide it. But I refused to let it override me.

"Yeah," I said in the steadiest voice I could muster, "I'm alright." I didn't wait for anyone to invite me to sit down this time, I just took the first seat I could find. Incidentally, it happened to be on the ground beside the Pyro. I noticed his hands were handcuffed behind his back, but he didn't seem to mind and was humming a tune I was familiar with but couldn't place at that moment.

"Ve talked about zis, remember?" the Medic reminded me from across the fire as I hugged my knees. "Do you remember vhere the respawn room is?"

"Groundfloor, second room to the right, central to the building," I recited. If there was one thing I was good at, it was remembering stuff. So far, I'd never had trouble retaining information. The Medic's drilling on medicine supply locations and key points had been no exception. My brain had soaked them up like a sponge. It still didn't make it any easier to actually deal with though.

"Correct," he said, pushing his spectacles up his nose as he spoke. "And how long vill it take him to respawn?"

I thought about it for a few seconds. Stab wounds took twenty seconds, gunshots thirty, and dismemberment sixty. But those were swift, clean deaths. This was full body trauma we were talking about now. The machine would have to reconstruct his entire body piece by piece. I shuddered at the thought and wondered if he was feeling the pain at that very moment. I shunned the image from my head and looked at the Medic. "Five minutes?" I offered.

The man sneered. "Six." He seemed content at the opportunity to correct me. I hadn't given him much to work with that morning. My body might have been a wreck, but my mind was not. But now he smiled down at me smugly, that unhinging mad glint reappearing in his eyes. _Damn, this man had some bipolarity issues. _I wanted to say something in reply, but thought better of it at the last second. This was the man I had to trust my life with under knife, needle and saw. It would be foolish of me to get on his bad side when my wellbeing for the foreseeable future depended so heavily on him. So I let it slide, and went back to staring at the flames instead.

"When d'yall reckon we'll be getting some decent time off?" the Engineer asked nobody in particular. I assumed he did it to change the subject and get my mind off the Scout. He seemed like a good guy, the Engineer. I was looking forward to my training with him. Engineering was, after all, my desired field of expertise.

"It bloody well be soon," the Demo remarked, stopping midsentence to chug down a gulp of liquor. "I've not had a good shag in ages."

I felt the tips of my ears turning pink.

"Mate, last Sheila to get in my bed was 1965. You're not the only one dying for a good fuck," the Sniper said to the amused laughter of the drunk Scotsman.

I was pretty sure my ears were not the only body part of mine to experience a shift in colour. If the heat I felt in my cheeks was anything to go by, my face was now burning up hotter than the sausages on the Engineer's griller. And as I shifted my position to hide myself from the men's gazes behind the Pyro, I realised just how _wrong _it all felt. All at once I felt too young and too out of place among the BLUs. This was the first proper time I was alone with them without the Scout somewhere nearby. He had contributed to the illusion of normality because he was almost as young as I was, and somehow that had helped. But now that he wasn't I suddenly felt the intense pressure of being in the middle of nowhere, sharing a building with nine older men, and a warzone with ten others whose sole intention towards me was to kill me. I felt so small as they shared jokes from past sexual escapades over the bonfire. I realised that the Scout probably experienced this too at some point or another, but with less intensity because he shared their gender. The youngest member of the team besides him was probably the Spy, and as far as I could deduce, even he was in his late thirties. I noted that thankfully, the masked man was nowhere to be seen, and I could at least count that as a blessing.

The Engineer had just handed me a sausage when I heard the sound of Scout's running shoes beating down on the dirt behind me. I turned around, and sure enough, I caught his gleaming smile just as he screeched to a halt behind me. "Miss me?" he asked me with that smirk still plastered all over his face. "Low blow bruddah," he added, addressing Heavy. The bald man grinned menacingly and stuffed his mouth full of freshly cooked sausages he'd been roasting on a smoking stick. It was all just a game to them though, and the Scout merely blew a raspberry at the man and sat down beside me in one fluid motion.

"Hey you," I greeted him softly. I blew on the sausage to cool it down before taking a small, tentative bite out of the meat. It was pork, and I chewed it thoroughly before swallowing it down. The boy's presence lightened my earlier mood significantly.

"Hey you," he repeated, the smug grin dissolving to a smile. "You alright?" he asked, probably seeing how tightly I held my knees to my chest.

"Oh, yes I'm fine," I assured him, loosening my grip around myself. "Are _you _alright?" I asked, directing the question at him.

"Course," he said, "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Just checking." I took another bite out of the sausage. I wished I had some water to go with it. Eating was always harder without water.

The lack of beverages didn't seem to bother the Scout however, and he wolfed down sausage after sausage as soon as the Engineer took them off the heat. And when the corn came out, the boy devoured two ears all on his own. I had nibbled at one before my stomach began to protest, and I gave it to him instead. The corn was gone in a matter of seconds. "Damn Scout," I'd whispered to him as I watched him destroy his fourth ear of corn, "How do you eat so much?"

The boy laughed with his mouth full of half-chewed kernels. "How do _you _eat so little? You're like a freakin bird!"

I didn't really want to answer his question, so I settled instead for something else. "Touché."

"Wha?" he asked, spraying corn everywhere.

"Never mind," I chuckled.

But even the Scout had a maximum capacity, and before long, he'd collapsed on his back with a content sigh, rubbing his full stomach. He pulled on the back of my shirt until I was lying beside him, staring up at the stars. The Engineer had brought out an acoustic guitar and was strumming a gentle tune to drown out the others' chattering.

"Hey A?" the Scout called, just loud enough so I could hear him.

"Yes?" I asked, letting my eyes drift to the boy beside me.

"You and me, we're buddies right?"

I smiled even though he couldn't see it. "Yeah Scout," I said to him, reaching up to playfully ruffle his hair. "We're buddies."

"Cool," he remarked, opening one lazy eye to look at me.

"Cool," I agreed.


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning, the sound of the alarm I had set roused me from my sleep at 6 am. I did a mad scramble out of my bed and down the ladder to turn it off so it wouldn't wake Scout. He had no reason to be up this early, so I hastily shut off the insistent beeping as soon as my finger landed on the device. I looked towards the boy. He had stirred slightly but was otherwise still deep in sleep, the sheets all bunched up around his waist. He'd gone to sleep that way last night. If I hadn't insisted otherwise, he'd have climbed into his bed fully dressed, shoes and all. But I had stared him down and he reluctantly stripped down to his boxers, and then promptly fell asleep, snoring on the feathery pillow. It had taken me a while to dig out the alarm clock he'd said he had. Eventually I found it hiding beneath a pair of shorts that I'd reckoned I'd be needing anyway. So I'd set the alarm, put the shorts aside, and crawled into bed. And just as it always did, morning came too soon.

I doubted I would ever get used to wearing a boy's clothes. The fit was so strange, especially the pants. There was way too much space up front and not enough in the back. If I lifted my legs too high, the material bunched up around my hips in the most uncomfortable of ways. I tightened the strings as far as they would go and it was somewhat better. I just hoped the soldier wasn't planning on making me do leg lifts. I'd found my headset again too and pushed it down over my ears before leaving the room. As we were returning from the cookout the previous night I had payed _very _close attention to the corridors we passed through so that I could find my own way in the morning. I nearly took the wrong turn, but corrected myself at the last second and successfully managed to maneuvre to the front wing. I was rather proud of my little achievement.

I had nearly fallen back asleep where I was standing when the soldier marched in, heavy boots making echoing stomps as they struck the polished floor. I shook myself back into focus and stood up straighter when he came to a halt directly in front of me. As usual, the helmet obscured the most part of his facial features, but he still saw the uncertain salute I gave him. "At ease, private," he said with a nod of approval. I lowered my arm, and uncertain what else to do with it, put it behind my back. "Are you ready for your training?" he asked in a voice that suggested he was going to start regardless of my answer.

"Sir yes sir," I replied. _Humour him, _the Scout had told me last night around the fire when I shared with him my anticipation of the next day. So I did just that. It didn't seem to annoy the man, at any rate, so I guess the boy hadn't been wrong.

"We are going to perform a series of circuits around the training ground. Move quickly and try to keep up!"

I didn't even have time to react before he took off at a brisk, jogging pace. I murmured a few choice words and bolted after him as fast as I could manage. I was lucky the Soldier was not the fastest of men. I would never have been able to keep up with him if he were going any quicker. Our current pace was already a struggle, but not unmanageable. I was not completely out of shape after all. I _had _been on the girls' cricket team back home, and I had a mean swing on the field. But that's just the thing with Cricket; you don't do an awful lot of running. I had my reasons for favouring Cricket over other sports, but I wasn't about to divulge them to the Soldier.

Time wore on slowly, and as we started the circuits, I found it steadily harder to keep up. Jogging across flat ground was one thing, but maneuvring through mud-filled ditches, knee-high dirt mounds and low strung barbed wire was quite another. The Soldier found no issues with the obstacles, but my inferior body was not so lucky. My lungs were on fire, and I could not reply whenever the Soldier turned casually to give me what he imagined to be an encouraging taunt to speed me up. My heart was close to breaking down when he finally came to a stop at the end of the circuit. And just in time too; I was positive my legs would not have carried me one step further. I looked down at them as I stood hunched over, desperately trying to regain my breath. They were each bleeding from a dozen tiny cuts where the skin had snagged onto the barbed wire. I knew that if I didn't do something about them soon, they'd probably get infected and scar over. I'd probably ask the medic for some of that medication he provided on the battlefield. Or I could get it myself really, I knew where it was stored now. Either way, the Soldier had started moving again, but this time it was towards the building, and I followed him eagerly.

"Damn, you look horrible," the Scout remarked when I sat down beside him at the breakfast table. His hand was hovering halfway between his bowl and his mouth, holding a spoon loaded with chocolatey cereal.

"Good morning to you too," I joked in response. The cuts on my leg stung painfully when I accidentally brushed them against his.

"Aw jeez, where'd that come from?" he asked, looking at the blood oozing slowly from the slits.

"The friendly barbed wire down at the training circuit," I answered. I pulled an empty bowl in front of me and filled it partially with cereal. I didn't fancy any milk, so I picked it up with my fingers and munched on it dry.

"Ach, here," the Medic said from across the table. He pulled something out of his pocket and pushed it across the wood towards me.

I held it up in my empty hand. It was one of the medicine bottles he'd showed me yesterday; the small green ones with the red cross on them that looked like soap bubble bottles. I opened the lid and downed the contents. I grimaced as the foul liquid made its way down my throat, but I was grateful anyway. "Thank you, Doctor," I said graciously, resealing the bottle and placing it back on the table. Already I could feel the pain dulling away in my lower body. I picked up another piece of the cereal and popped it in my mouth. I noticed how only a few of the men were seated at the table with us. Besides the Medic and Scout, there was the Sniper and the Heavy, but no one else. "Hey, where's the rest?" I asked the boy beside me. But he just shrugged nonchalantly.

"Demo's probably too drunk to get his ass outta bed. Engie's working on his projects down below. I don't even wanna know what the Pyro's doin, and Spy got five days off for some _errand _he's been assigned."

"Errand?" I asked with a quizzical raise of the eyebrow.

"Yeah, that's what he said," Scout replied with a roll of his eyes. "The creepy fucker's probably torturing someone right now."

"Charming," I remarked, pouring myself some water from a transparent jug and wetting my throat. The dry cereal had scratched at my parched mouth so that I could barely make out the taste of chocolate. The water helped me regain my sense of taste, and immediately I was aware of the curls of milk-chocolate melting on the tip of my tongue. I smiled from the sweetness of the food. The Scout certainly loved sugary things. Even with the already too-sweet cereal, he was chugging down a can of Bonk. I fought the urge to reach out and place the can down on the table. Just because I couldn't handle it, didn't mean nobody else could. And the Scout certainly seemed to enjoy it.

"Oh, almost forgot," Scout said, wiping the milk from his lips against the back of his hand. "A crate came for ya bout half an hour ago."

"A crate?" I asked. I didn't remember packing anything so big it would need to be boxed into a crate to be delivered. The biggest thing I had was my cricket bat, and that fit into my suitcase well enough.

"Yeh, we get crates sometimes. Mostly weapon upgrades or supplies," he explained.

"It's probably her basic loadout," the Sniper told him from behind his coffee. The mug he had was a dirty white, with the words "#1 Sniper" printed on it in faded blue. "You should probably check them out, Soldier 'ill want you to train with them Sheila," he said, to me that time.

I nodded and put down the piece of cereal I was eating. "Where's the crate?" I asked the Scout.

"I don't know, Heavy brought it in," he replied, leaning back to look at the man, "Hey fatty, where'd you put A's stuff?"

"In tiny baby men's room," he said after narrowing his eyes at the boy. To me, he smiled, revealing two rows of enormous, hot chocolate-smeared teeth.

"Thank you," I said, averting my eyes from the sight of a dentist's worst nightmare. "Come on," I said to the Scout as I stood up. "Soldier wants me to meet him in thirty minutes and I want to see what I got." I felt slightly excited, like a child about to open her presents on Christmas, only my parcel was a crate full of destructive devices.

We found the crate lying in the middle of the room atop a horde of cans which were most likely crushed to powder. The box was _huge. _The Heavy was big and all, but even he must have struggled to carry that monstrosity up those stairs. That thought made me worry about the contents. Just how big were those weapons? I could carry a fair amount of weight, but not for extended periods of time. I knew that no amount of training was ever going to change that.

"Christ, what's in this thing?" Scout asked, walking around it. When he was completely behind it, the box came up to just below his ribs. He pushed the lid out of the way with some degree of effort and leaned it against the side of the crate. He peeked in. "You comin or what?"

I had stood at the entrance of the room right up until the Scout asked me that question. His words pulled me out of my thoughts, and I approached him. I precariously put my hand down into the sea of Styrofoam balls. I fished around a bit until my fingers brushed against something long and slender. I gripped it, and felt a wave of familiarity wash over me. I knew what it was even before I pulled it out of the box.

"What the?" the Scout gawked.

"It's a cricket bat!" I exclaimed, happily holding out the sporting device at arm's length. It was somewhat different to my own personal one in that it was made out of aluminium. I thought that a bit strange. Cricket bats were always made of wood. But then I realised, the bat probably wasn't made to hit balls so much as it was made to break open skulls. Still, I couldn't help but wonder… I reached into the foam again in roughly the same area I'd found the bat, and sure enough, my fingers closed round a ball. "Yes!" I said, holding the blue-coloured ball in my hands. It irked me that they'd changed its standard crimson colour, but I supposed they weren't about to give the BLU team a red weapon.

"Is this like some retarded form of baseball?" the Scout asked, frowning at my findings.

"No way mate, baseball is a retarded form of cricket. Cricket came first, then you Americans screwed it up and called it something different," I explained, still clutching the two weapons in my hands.

"Yeah right," he sneered playfully. He stuck his arm down into the box up until his shoulder and pulled out a small, typical-blue coloured cardboard box. He tore it open and I saw his eyes widen. "Whoa," he remarked, holding the thing out to me delicately.

It was a slingshot, but believe me when I say, it was no ordinary slingshot. "Wow, they really don't kid around with their stuff here huh?" I asked, analysing the weapon from every angle. It was quite the beauty in polished steel and heavy duty rubber.

"That must be one of mine." The voice came from behind me in the doorway. I turned around so fast I nearly dropped the slingshot. The Sniper and Medic were leaning against the doorframe and looking at us with interest. I hadn't even heard them approaching.

"One of yours?" I asked, confused.

"Yeah. Your job's to help everyone out right? So you got the cricket gear to help out Scout, and the slingshot for when you're with me," he explained.

"Oh, right." It made sense, in hindsight. "So there's got to be stuff here to help the Medic too," I figured, diving back into the box.

"Hey lookie here," Scout said, emerging with yet another treasure. "You got a sawed-off shotgun."

"And… Um, I'm not sure what this is," I admitted, holding out a queer-looking sort of jacket. It was without sleeves and was more buckles than material. Even more frequent than the buckles were the pockets, and when I reached into one, hundreds of tiny pellets came up. "What are they?" I asked, perplexed.

"I think they're Demo's stuff," Scout guessed, looking closer at the things. "They look like smaller versions of his grenades." Now that he mentioned it, they did look like grenades.

"Ok, so that's you, Sniper, Soldier, and Demo. What's next?"

"This has Pyro written all over it," Scout exclaimed, holding up a queer looking sort of gun. It was very small, with a very short barrel and a bell-shaped mouth. He tossed it to me, and I barely just caught it.

"What does it do?" I asked, perplexed by the odd-looking weapon. I turned it around in my hands to see it from all sides. "It doesn't look like i-"

**_BLAM!_**

I had let my finger get too close to the trigger, and it had gone off. I was very, very, _very _lucky the gun had been pointed away from me, or I'd have shot myself. Or worse, I'd have shot an alarmed looking Scout straight through the chest. Thankfully, the flare went straight through the open window, trailing a tongue of fire behind it.

I promptly put the gun down on the desk. "I don't think I'll be using that often," I admitted.

"Aye," a wide-eyed Sniper agreed, "I think that would be for the best."

"Vhy give her a flare gun though?" the Medic pondered, moving to the window and looking out. "It hardly caused any damage." His eyes seemed to scan the landscape until they settled on whatever it was he was looking for. "Ah, there we go," he said, pointing out. "See ze smoke?"

I stuck my head out the window and looked in the direction he was indicating. It took me a while, but then I saw where the flare had landed. Or rather, I saw the effect it caused where it landed. The entire area was engulfed in a cloud of thick, dark, blue smoke. I couldn't even see the ground beneath it, like a blanket had been spread over the place.

"Fuckin hell, that gun's sick," the Scout said from behind me. He'd come to look out the window too and nudged his head onto my shoulder to get a good view. I noticed how close his face was to mine, and once again I found myself fighting down the blush.

"Ja," the Medic agreed, nodding thoughtfully. "I think it aims to cause distraction and confusion in ze opposing team."

"Maybe I'll use it after all then," I decided, revoking my last comment. "Does it come with a gas mask?"

"Nope," Sniper said, peering into the box, "just this." He held up a small respirator the same colour as my headset. It didn't have a visor for my eyes, so the gas was probably non-toxic.

In addition to those five, we found a utility belt armed to the teeth with first-class tools. It even had a tiny battery-powered driller which fit in the palm of my hand. I'd smiled a little at that, though not with a certain undeniable sense of remorse. I had come _so _close to achieving my dream and running away from my terrible life before the accident happened. But I didn't let myself dwell upon that too much.

After that, the Medic and Heavy related weapons emerged from the crate. Compared to the rest of the previous findings, they were quite unremarkable. For Medic, I got a tranquilizer gun loaded with drug-tipped metal darts. I could choose which drug to coat the darts in; either morphine for my teammates, or a delirium hallucinogen for the enemy. For Heavy on the other hand, I got lead spike-covered boots that delivered killing kicks, but would probably slow me down to a crawl with their weight.

What was truly remarkable however, was the last item I found packed away carefully in a small rectangular box of rich blue velvet. I opened it, and my jaw dropped. "Bloody hell," I said, almost in whispers. Lying on the built-in cushion was probably the most beautiful weapon I would ever live to lay eyes on. I knew its name even before the Sniper told me.

"That's an Apache Pistol," he said, bending down to get a closer look. "Always wanted to get me one of those."

With unskilled fingers, I took the bronze weapon out of its box and held it up to the light. Intricate carvings decorated the polished metal. Even along the length of the glinting, foldable blade, the patterns continued uninterrupted. "I'm guessing this is for Spy," I said, still engulfed in awe.

"No kiddin," Scout said. "It's even got the same type of markings as the Ambassador."

"Ambassador?" I asked.

"It's this fancy gun he has. Real pretty an all, but nothing heavy duty."

"Ah," I remarked. I wasn't really paying attention to what he'd said, I was still too busy overcoming my awe for the new weapon. Out of all of them, this one was definitely my favourite. Ironic, really, since the Spy was probably my least favourite person on base, but one couldn't have everything. I let my eyes drift beyond the Scout, and they landed on the clock. We had got so caught up finding the weapons that I'd forgot about Soldier; my thirty minutes were almost up. "Shite," I said, quickly but carefully putting the pistol back into the velvet box. "I've got to get back to Soldier or he'll have my head," I said to Scout as I shoved the box into his hands.

"More literally than you'd think," Sniper quipped, and the Medic chuckled.

"What?" I asked, not quite getting the joke.

"Eh, you'll find out soon enough," the Australian snickered.

"Right," I said, picking up the shotgun amongst the pile of new weapons. "Later men," I said to them as I ran out the door.

"Good luck Sheila," the Sniper called after me. I could have sworn I'd heard him laugh again.

(Later that Evening...)

"I see what you meant about the heads."

I sat down beside the Sniper with my dinner in a plastic plate atop my lap. They still hadn't fixed the stove, so we were having dinner out back once more. This time however, the Engineer had provided us with white slices of bread and an assortment of fillings to choose from. By the time I'd put mine together, Scout was busy chomping down on what seemed to be an everything sandwich. I could swear I saw cheese and herring poking out of opposite ends of the bread. I myself had buttered two slices and filled them with a thin layer of salty crisps to make a layman's chip butty. I bit into it optimistically, and found it wasn't all that bad after all, even if it didn't compare to the actual thing.

"Do you have any sense of taste at all?" I asked the boy when a mess of chocolate sauce and jam dribbled down his chin.

"Mm?" he tried to ask, but succeeded only in spilling more of the concoction on himself. I suppressed a laugh and pressed one of the napkins I'd taken to his lips.

"Here, try not to make a mess all over yourself," I said as I wiped at his chin before the sticky globs could drop onto his shirt.

He swallowed everything he had in his mouth and flashed me a smile. "Thanks doll," he said with a wink.

"Don't mention it," I said, offering him my own sideways smile. Once more, I had donned the boy's too-large yet comfortable clothing. I'd chosen a light zip up that night too and changed my trousers. It was still just early September, and while the days were still comfortably warm, the nights had adopted a slight, brisk chill. Pretty soon it would get cold, but I assumed my clothes would have arrived by that point. Hopefully. "So how'd trainin with Solly go?" he asked in between bites.

"Oh, y'know," I said, averting my eyes, "alright."

"Alright?" the Scout repeated. "Come on, how bad did you flunk?"

"I did not flunk," I corrected. "I hit the targets he gave me… Sometimes."

The Scout laughed as soon as I said the last bit of my sentence. "Aw jeez, you're gonna suck. How are you gonna shoot those red knuckleheads if you can't even hit stationary targets?"

"Hey, I _did _hit them. And they weren't always stationary," I murmured.

"He gave you moving targets?" Sniper asked from his chair.

"I don't think he intended to."

"Oh boy," the Scout piped up, seemingly understanding what I was implying.

"Don't," I warned him.

"You hit the freakin Soldier didn't you?" He didn't even wait for a reply, my face was enough of a giveaway. He leaned his head back and laughed that full-hearted laugh of his. "Oh man, he must've loved that."

"Honestly, I thought my head would be impaled beside the others before nightfall," I admitted.

"How'd he let you keep it?" Sniper asked, nearly choking on his food not to chuckle.

"The bullet kinda went straight through the palm of his hand. Then hit the target right on bulls-eye behind him."

"No way," Scout denied.

"I'm not even kidding. That bullet tore straight through his hand and buried itself in the Red Heavy target before I even knew what was happening. I was actually happy before I realised the bullet had taken a little detour. His yelling gave it away quite quickly, though."

Even the Sniper laughed this time, chortling so hard he nearly dropped out of his chair. Even the Pyro, who was sitting nearby tearing petals off daisies, let out something resembling a laugh. The rest were out of earshot, conversing loudly about people I did not know and places I'd never been.

"The rest went fine though," I assured them after they stopped laughing at me. And of course it was, the rest was all just memory work. The Soldier had given me a detailed run-through of every single mission we could be assigned with, along with strategy plans and location data. He showed me map after map of different warzones, pointing out the capture points and enemy bases. The thing we spent most time one however, was the Intelligence. Stealing the Intel, he'd told me, was probably the second most important job we had. When I'd asked him what the first was, he told me it was protecting our own. The Intel contained sensitive and essential knowledge. The less Red knew about us, and the more we knew about them, the better. I had to admit, I was not all that happy knowing the enemy team could acquire such critical information about me, and much less that I had no idea what said critical information was. "Then he showed me his heads," I told them.

"He does that to everyone," Sniper assured me.

Later that evening, I sat on my knees beside the doorframe while the rest of the team hit the showers. Just like the day before, I'd had mine before dinner to avoid unpleasant situations. I was occupying myself with fixing the door while I waited for Scout to get back. Now that I had the tools at my disposal, I could actually do something about the gaping hole in our bedroom. It still wasn't an easy task, especially since most of the hinges had been ripped from their place, but after some time I managed to decently align everything with where it was supposed to be. All I needed now was to screw in the bolts. Good thing I had a power drill. I reached out my hand to grab it, but it wasn't there with the other tools. I thought back a bit and decided I must've accidentally placed it back inside the crate. The box was still there, occupying the already limited space inside the room. I dug my hand into the Styrofoam and searched around until my fingers brushed against something… velvety.

"What?" I asked nobody in particular. Had I put my revolver back into the crate? I looked behind me; the Apache was in its case lying on my unmade bed. So no then, this was something else. I gripped it and lifted it out of the sea of white. It blew at insistent bits of foam that clung to the box and held it in my hands. "That's strange," I remarked. Why would I have an extra weapon for one of the classes? Hadn't I already got my nine items? I ran through them all in my head. Yes, I'd found all nine, so what was this extra one? I figured I wasn't going to find out just by stroking the velvet on the cover. I found the clasp, and popped it open.

"Whoa."

That was definitely not a weapon. Well, it probably was in some way, but that beautiful thing inside the case was not going to be killing any people, any time soon. The object, as it turned out, was a golden pocket watch.

"Damn," I remarked, stroking the polished metal with my index finger. Much like the Apache, the pocket watch was a work of art. When I examined it closer, there was no mistaking which class it was made to aid. It had exactly the same carvings as the revolver, and according to scout, as the Ambassador. I had no doubt this watch somehow helped me better serve the Spy's needs during battle. After all, no other class could be associated with this level of grace and finery. Oh I hated him alright. I barely even knew him and I knew I hated him, but there was no denying he had a certain aura of elegance. "What's your secret?" I asked the watch, turning it over in my hands. Something caught my eye then; an ornately scripted 'D' was embossed in the middle of the golden face. It was flanked by two lambs with palm fronds in their mouths and pomegranates at their hooves. I was quite taken aback by the attention to detail on such a small object, and decided it would join the Apache in the place of honour as favourite weapons. If only I knew what it did.

But I supposed I would have to wait for a few days. After all, it was only just a watch, it couldn't be all that spectacular.

Right?


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you very,very much for the Review, I really appreciate it!**

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"Good throw lassie!**_"_**

The Demoman shouted his approval as I hit the designated target for the fifth time in a row. Unlike with Soldier, training with Demo didn't involve aiming with guns. The small grenades didn't have any firing mechanism, and required me simply to throw them with as much strength as I could muster at my enemy. Fortunately for me, I had a good throwing arm.

"Thanks, I learned how to throw in Cricket," I told him, shielding my eyes from the debris unearthed by the small explosions. Even though they still delivered considerable damage, my grenades didn't have nearly the same amount of destructive power that the Demo's had. In fact, five of mine just barely caused the same degree of explosion as one of his did. Though that being said, chucking them at an advancing Red probably wasn't their main function. They were most effective, we'd found out, buried underground like mines. Sure, they wouldn't blow a person to kingdom come, but they'd take his foot off quite nicely.

"Well, you're putting it to good use now," he said. He scratched his head beneath his hat and took another swig from the rum. He had been drinking consistently since we'd started training at nine that morning. It was two in the afternoon now and he was still emptying bottles like there was no tomorrow. He finished them off so fast I had near started to believe he was drinking water. How could someone possibly ingest so much alcohol and remain comprehensive? He could even obliterate a target on the other side of the training arena, and he only had one eye! I couldn't even aim a gun fully sober, much less under the effects of such heavy drinking and visual impairment. But they didn't seem to bother the Demo at all, and it was with great ease that he raised his grenade launcher and lazily destroyed the last target to end our training session. "I think that's enough for today, don't you?" he asked.

"Yeah," I agreed, "I can't really think of any other way to use them anyway." We had exhausted each and every possible use for the pellets, but at the end of the day, there just wasn't all that much to practice on. There were only so many things you could do with minimal-damage weaponry, and we'd explored them all. Now I was just tired and hungry and desperate to get out of the sun. The day had started out overcast, so I'd worn the zip up from yesterday over my shirt during morning training with the Soldier. I'd been fine until the sun had risen properly and pushed the shade of the clouds away. Then I just started feeling really hot. "So we're done for the day?" I asked hopefully.

"Aye lass, I'd say we are."

I realised as I walked through the base, that I had no idea what to do to occupy my time. Up until now, all my training sessions had kept me busy up until an hour or two before dinner. I didn't even know where the Scout was; he wasn't in our room when I got there. I hadn't really expected him to be, he wasn't the type to sit around all day doing nothing. So for a lack of better option, I decided to hit the showers. Besides, hot days and training didn't mix very well for my over-clothed body. It was a relief feeling the cold water beating down on my skin, and I took my time under the cooling spray. I was almost sad when I had to dry myself off.

"Fuck." I mentally kicked myself in the shins; I'd forgotten to bring clothes with me. The Scout had an extra pair of boxer shorts in his locker, and I still had my bra, but the rest of the clothes I'd sent down the laundry chute. "God bloody damn it," I swore, pulling on the few clothes I had and peering out the door into the corridor. There seemed, at least, not to be anybody in sight anywhere nearby, so I made a mad dash to my room, frantically looking this way and that in case somebody appeared. I relaxed only when I was safely in my room, away from prying eyes. The crate, that damn thing, was still there, and I nearly crashed right into it when I scrambled into the room. I nearly just avoided getting jabbed in my side by its sharp edge, and made a mental note to either get Heavy to take it away, or get Scout to help me push it out into the hallway. Neither of us were particularly beefy, but maybe with our combined strength, we'd manage to move it. But first, I needed to find the boy.

I searched around. There wasn't much I could tell from the mess, but unless the floor had eaten them, his running shoes were absent. He was probably out training then. I could put on some clothes and look for him, but maybe grab a bite to eat on the way first. They had replaced the damaged stove and repainted the burnt areas where the Pyro had gone berserk with his flamethrower. Apparently he'd grown impatient with the slow cooking of the eggs and unleashed his fury on our breakfast. Completely normal, Scout had said, happens all the time. And that made me feel just fine and dandy, because if our Pyro had no control over his desire to see things burn, then I couldn't imagine how happy the enemy's Pyro would be to set me aflame.

_Speaking of flame. _

The flare gun was lying on the floor beside a pair of bunched up socks. I'd put it on the desk the night before, along with all my other weapons. Scout must've accidentally knocked it over while he was changing that morning. This time, I was cautious when handling the gun. I figured I might not always be so lucky and end up burning a hole through myself before even setting foot on the battlefield. As I put it back in its place, my eyes roamed over to the pocket watch. I'd left it in its box and forgot to tell Scout about it, but now I undid the clasp and traced my fingers over the gold. I hesitated when I drifted over the lambs. They had nagged at me all day. _Why lambs and palm fronds? _It seemed an odd choice of décor that didn't seem to have any purpose. Then that morning, as I was about to toss a handful of pellets at a target, I'd remembered something I'd been thought long ago. The lamb and palm fronds were symbols of sacrifice; the Pomegranates of trial and suffering. They were three metaphoric objects that often appeared together, so I was reluctant to dismiss it as a coincidence. But even so, I could still not see how the 'D' tied in with it all. I didn't even know what 'D' stood for. Perhaps the Spy would know, if he could take time out of his schedule of infuriating me to answer my question.

I was so busy speculating over the significance of the metaphor that I didn't even hear the Medic coming in until it was too late. I spun around in shock when he called my name in an attempt to grab my attention. I panicked, and for the shortest of seconds, I stood staring at the doctor; frozen, like a deer caught in headlights. Then my instincts kicked in, and my hands moved as if they had minds of their own to hide my body. Though unlike most girls, my primary concern was not to conceal the nakedness left bared by the fabric of my bra, but the area above that; the one littered with scars of demons passed. I moved away from him, pressing my back against the wall and feeling its reassuring solidness against my burning skin. Whatever relief the shower had given me from the heat was all in vain now as the blush crept up my body, setting it aflame in my embarrassment.

"No need for zat child," the man cooed, "I am your doctor. I have seen many men, women and children vit far less clothes on that you have now. Zer is no need to be shy."

I mumbled something incomprehensive, keeping my head bowed down and my eyesight averted. I was working very hard to keep my breathing in check, and was so far not doing a good job. It wasn't the nakedness, it was the intrusion. My body was far from perfect, with scars and bruises and unsightly bulges that did not quite fit the idealistic form of beauty held by most of my countrymen. But I refused to genuinely believe there was something wrong with the way I looked, even if the sight of my mangled body might disgust others. No, it was deeper than that. The intrusion by another man while I was at my most vulnerable was a frequent occurrence that had left far too many sour memories. It had also left its marks; both physically and mentally, and I shied away both from fear and routine as the Medic approached me.

"I just need to give you zis shot," he said in a soft voice as he lifted something up. "And then I shall be on my way."

I gulped and forced myself to look up. The doctor was standing a few feet away from me with a syringe filled with a yellowish liquid in his hand. He had a concerned look on his face and was trying not to show it, but I saw it anyway. My unconventional show of alarm and panic must have caught him by surprise. I made an effort and willed my tongue to move. "What is it?" I asked in a low volume.

"It is a serum to stop your menstrual cycle," he said, reverting back to his formal, physician voice. "Our employer thought it best to supply you vit it rather than let your bodily functions interfere vit your work."

"Oh," I remarked, slightly detached. "Okay."

The Medic hesitated. "You need to extend your arm child," he said. I shook my head without even knowing or planning to do so. "It vill hurt if you don't," he warned, releasing a bead of the liquid from the needle.

"That's okay."

He sighed in defeat. "Very well," he said. He took out something from his pocket and used it to swipe the skin on my arm. The smell of disinfectant reached my nose and I scrunched my face in disgust. God did I hate that smell. "Deep breath," he warned me, and plunged the needle into my over-tensed arm. It hurt more than I expected it to, and it showed on my face. The needle had to manoeuvre between clenched muscles that were quite unhappy by the intrusion. The doctor, in addition, was none too gentle with the administration of the serum, just as he had been when taking my blood. I was sure this would leave an even bigger bruise than the last syringe to penetrate my body had. It seemed to take forever for the vaccine to empty its contents inside me, and when it was finally done, the Medic pulled it out quickly and roughly. Instantly I felt the aching soreness in my arm and the feeling similar to having slept on it for three successive nights. I relaxed my muscles and breathed deeply as he'd advised, only a bit too late.

"Done," he said, sweeping more of the antiseptic over my arm. "Come to me every month for zis shot. Do not forget."

I nodded without looking at him and kept my arms wrapped firmly around myself. "I won't," I assured him. "Doctor?" I asked.

"Yes child?" he inquired, tossing the needle into a hazard bag.

"Do you know where Scout is?" I figured it would be easier asking than roaming the entire building.

"Last I saw, he was running around the base," he said dismissively. "Do not forget," he warned me again. "Once a month."

"Yes Doctor." I held my breath until he was out of the room. When the sound of his footsteps had dimmed away, I ran to the door and banged it shut. My knees wobbled unsteadily, and I slid down against it until I was sitting on the floor. One tear escaped my eye. Then another. And another. Before I knew it, I was crying into my knees, heaving from the sudden onslaught of emotions. A million, million voices were coming to life inside my head, and each and every one was screaming at me.

"_No, stop!" _my own subconscious yelled in panic when my sobbing intensified. "_You don't want to do this now!"_

_"Aw come on, you're better than this!" _piped up my pride, "_You don't want Scout to see you like this do you?"_

_"You're pathetic."_

My breathing hitched. That voice was the one I'd been dreading. That cold, calculating sneer of a voice that never seemed to leave, no matter how far I ran. That voice, laced with so much loathing and disgust it seemed to sicken my stomach with the fewest of uttered syllables. I heard it now, heard it so clearly he might have been standing in the room with me; standing over me and looking down as if to spit on me at any given moment.

"_Get up."_

_But I couldn't… Couldn't move, couldn't stand, couldn't block him…_

_"Are you deaf girl? I said get up!"_

_The lashes rained down on me. On my back. On my arms. On my legs. On any exposed flesh his belt could reach. I cowered in fear, but that did nothing to stop his fury._

_"Get,"_

_Another hit._

_"The," _

_Another._

_"Fuck,"_

_And another._

_"UP!"_

"Aaaaaaaaaaargh!" I screamed myself out of the memory. Like a child drowning in rough seas, I kicked and clawed at the air around me, as if to rid myself of the lingering voice in my ears. And as if it sensed my desperation, the storm about me stilled, waiting for the water to empty from my struggling lungs. I gasped gladly at the air, fighting down the uncontrollable fear that had paralyzed my body.

It had happened again. Christ, it had happened again. I couldn't believe it. No, I _refused _to believe it. It had been two months since the last one. I'd almost started to believe they were really gone for good, at long last. But they were never really gone, just hiding; hiding and waiting under the blankets until the opportune moment to strike arrived. My anxiety attacks would not leave me be, and that wasn't even the most frightening part. The scariest thing about them was that they rendered me useless. Nothing I ever did managed to stop them once they started rolling. No amount of thrashing or struggling ever interfered with the memories playing back before my eyes. They only stopped when they decided to do so, and sometimes, my brain was not so kind. Sometimes they lasted longer. Sometimes they were fiercer. But each and every one was frightening in its own special way. I'd already lived through them once; making me experience them again was just mindless torture, and my mind seemed to revel in my suffering.

"What are we going to do Katie?" I asked myself, just like I always did. "We're going to get up and stay up." I tried to stand, but slid back down with the first try. I was standing shakily with the second attempt. "Find some clothes and go to Scout."

At first, when the attacks had started, I'd thought I was finally going insane when I'd resolve to talk to myself afterwards. But I'd soon learnt it was the only way to deal with them. At least, the only way that seemed to work. I did it instinctively now, talking myself through even the simple task of tying my shoes. But it kept me occupied, and more importantly, it kept me moving. I didn't even know where I was going, I was so lost in my own thoughts. If it weren't for the Scout colliding into me head-on, I'd have probably kept wandering straight into the Red Base.

"Aw, jeez A," he whined, rubbing his chin from the impact. "Whatcha do that for?"

I blinked. I didn't even know I'd made it outside. I squinted from the sun, and through the fading dots of colour, I saw the outline of a blue tank top and running shorts. "Pardon?" I asked, still in a heavy daze.

"You walked right into me," he said, as if it was obvious. I suppose in retrospect, it was. "Hey are you sick?"

"What?" I asked, confused.

"You look like you've just come out of an ice bath," he told me, placing the back of his hand against my forehead. "Like you've got the flu or somethin."

"Oh," I remarked, shaking my head to banish all unrelated thoughts and emotions from my thinking. "No I'm not sick, don't fret," I assured him, slowly getting my voice back. "I was just looking for you," I admitted.

"Well you found me," he joked, spreading out his arms. "Came out for a run a couple hours ago and got bored."

"I finished training with Demo early," I told him.

"Yeh I saw," he said, motioning with his head towards the training grounds. "I ran past there a while back and you were gone. You changed clothes," he remarked, looking me over.

"Oh," I said with a blush from the attention, "I took a shower and changed into lighter clothes. I hope you don't mind." I knew he'd said I could borrow anything I wanted without having to ask his permission, but even he had to have his limits. It was the third day after all, and there was still no sign of my suitcases. He must've started to get annoyed by my taking his clothes.

"No no," he said, the corner of his lips itching up into a smile. "You can uh, borrow my clothes when you need. Specially those shorts. You take 'em as much as you want."

I stared down at my legs. In my dizzy state to escape our bedroom, I'd hardly noticed what I'd put on. The pair I'd taken were short; much shorter than the ones I'd had on earlier. In fact, they were about as short as the ones Scout was wearing himself. And they were pretty damn short. And tight. I noticed my gaze had shifted from my own body to the Scout's. More specifically, onto his thighs, and the lean, well-defined muscles glistening beneath the mist of sweat that clung to his skin. He laughed when he caught me staring, and I smiled in return. "Oh knock it off," I teased him, punching him playfully in the shoulder.

"Ooo, real scary," he mocked me. "What you gon do, _stare _me to death?"

"I _can _punch harder you know," I warned, lifting my fist in mock threat.

"Bout as hard as a butterfly toots," he laughed, poking my fist away and sticking his tongue out at me. "Besides, you don't wanna hit me."

"Pretty sure I do."

"Nah," he insisted, pushing me gently back towards the way I came. "You wanna come with me and grab some lunch."

"That too."

Turned out someone had made cold pasta for lunch and put the leftovers in the fridge. Scout scooped the remaining food from the large transparent bowl into two plastic smaller ones and carried them for us out onto the roof. I'd grabbed a can of Bonk and a sealed bottle of water for me and followed him outside.

"Hey thanks," he beamed as I showed him the energy drink. He was still holding both our bowls, so I popped the tab off and traded it for one of the portions of food. He took a large gulp before sitting down on the tiles. I laughed at his love for the sugary drink before sitting down beside him, but he hardly seemed to notice. He'd begun guzzling down the curly pasta with the Bonk held securely between his knees. "God this is good," he said, stuffing his mouth with another forkful.

I took a bite out of one of the pieces. I had to admit, it was rather tasty, even if it was just cold pasta. Whoever the chef was, he'd added mayonnaise, honey and mustard to the mix to achieve the perfect blend of sweet and savoury. "Did the Engineer make this?" I asked him, spearing another piece through the middle.

"Probably. Guy's a genius with food," he said. "You haven't lived 'till you tried his steaks."

"I'm sure I'll try them sooner or later," I said with a nod. "So is he the only one that cooks or do you take it in turns?"

"Uh, we used to. Didn't last long though," he said with a chuckle.

"Oh? How come?"

"Sweetcheeks, I was made for runnin, not for cookin," he laughed.

"That bad?" I challenged him.

"Not even close. I can make sandwiches. And toast. And sometimes I burn the toast," he admitted.

"I see," I said, suppressing a laugh. "And the other?"

He furrowed his eyebrows while he thought a bit. "Pyro's not bad, when he's not setting things on fire. He's in charge of breakfast now. Demo… Well, last time that drunk tried to cook he tried to feed me some funky sausage."

"You mean blood pudding?" I asked.

"Yeah that's what he called it." He shivered. "Man, you Europeans eat some pretty fucked up food."

"Oi, do not," I denied.

"Do to. You know what the Heavy made? I'll tell you what he made: tomato water with a raw egg in it. That fat fucker tried to poison me," he whined.

"I'm sure it wasn't that bad," I denied, laughing at the expression on his face.

"You got no idea," he insisted. "And then, the doc couldn't even use the oven. Tried baking potatoes with the damn thing turned off. That guy's got a bit of screws loose in his head. Tried shredding them and passin them off as coleslaw. I tell ya, you Europeans are nuts."

"What about Spy?" I asked, editing out all emotion from my voice.

"Frenchie doesn't eat with us," he said with a shrug.

"Oh? How so?" I inquired.

"I donno," he admitted. "Guess we're not good enough for him or somethin. Probably makes his own fancy food and eats it all holed up in 'is room. Whatever," he said, "Nobody really likes Spy anyway. You can't trust a spook, everyone knows that."

I looked at him intensely as he ate. "I have to train with him," I said. "On Sunday, when he gets back."

"Oh boy, Spook aint gonna like that," he laughed. "You're cheatin him outta his day off."

"Wonderful. Just what I needed; giving Spy more reasons to hate me," I murmured. "I don't even know _why _ he hates me," I admitted.

"Don't take it personally doll; Spy hates everyone, and everyone hates Spy. Just don't get on his bad side and he'll leave you alone."

Well, it seemed as if I'd already gotten on his bad side without really doing anything, so that was out the window. But I wasn't about to tell Scout that, for fear he might inquire me further about that episode with the water. "And how do I do that?" I asked him instead.

"I donno, just don't get in his way."

"Scout, I have to work with the guy," I reminded him.

"Huh, forgot bout that," he admitted. "You better just listen to what he says then. Happy Spy is Safe Spy."

I nodded. "And if that doesn't work?"

"You come to me," he said in a serious tone.

"And what will you do?" I asked, trying to keep the amusement at bay.

"I'll bash the guy's freakin head in so far, they'll need cement to put his skull back together."

I laughed at his words, and at the serious tone he used to speak them. "I'm sure you will Scout."

"Hey, you're my bud," he said, "And nobody messes with my buds."

"Nobody?"

"Nobody."

And even though it was coming from the mouth of a boy I'd only known for three days, I'd have been lying if I said I didn't feel safer.


	7. Chapter 7

I'm active again, at least for now! Was feeling better recently, so i got back to writing :]  
Enjoy!

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"Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!"

I cracked one eyelid open lazily. The clock in the room read ten past five in the morning; still too early to get up. Yet for some reason the Scout was jumping up and down beside our beds and repeating the same thing every time he reached my level. I yawned and shuffled down back underneath my covers.

"It's too early Scout," I moaned, pulling the sheets over my head. "Go back to sleep."

"But your luggage got here!"

Well, that got my attention. "It is?" I asked, poking my face out again. I was slightly taken aback when I found myself staring straight into his eyes through the safety bars of the bunk. And then suddenly, they were gone. He had hopped into mid-air at just the right moment to catch me coming out. I waited until he'd levelled with me again, and swiftly extended my finger and poked him on the nose. His eyes widened in shock, and quickly turned to glee.

"Yupp. A train stopped here like five minutes ago and they dropped your stuff off on the platform," he said, motioning to the window with his thumb. "Can't believe you slept through that; that thing's like freakin dynamite."

I shrugged as best as I could in the position I was in. "I'm a deep sleeper," I admitted, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. "They just dropped them off?" I asked.

"Uhh, they kinda tossed them out actually," he said.

"How nice of them," I remarked, pushing the sheets off me and sitting up. "Best go get them I suppose." I got up reluctantly. With the window open, there was a slight chill in the room that contrasted unpleasantly with my bed-warmth.

"Yeh, it looks like rain's comin," he said.

Eventually, the whole thing turned out to be a mad dash for the suitcases in the rain. Neither of us had really bothered to put on anything on top of the clothes we'd been wearing to bed, not even shoes. In my case, I'd been wearing a soft pair of the Scout's shorts and an old t shirt of his, but the boy was clad only in his boxer shorts and dog tags. He was shivering by the time we managed to drag my stuff into the shelter of the base. Because obviously, the skies had chosen that exact moment to unleash an ungodly downpour. And even though I was wearing more clothes than he was, Scout was not the only one shaking from the chill.

"You're gonna catch a cold sweetcheeks," he chuckled and dropped the small suitcase he'd been carrying at my feet in the base's foyer. "Talk about a wake-up call eh?" He was stretching his arms up as he spoke, pushing his chest forward and arching his back. All too suddenly, I was aware of how attractive the Scout's bare body was, and more importantly, that I was staring intently at it. There was a certain mesmerizing beauty in the way his muscles contorted as he stretched, somehow enhanced by the glistening raindrops. I pulled my eyes away when I started to notice the pattern of veins beneath his tensed skin.

"Hey A!" he called when I'd looked away. I turned my head, and was met by a spray of water square in the face. The Scout was laughing as he vigorously shook his head like a dog, sending water droplets flying everywhere. He enhanced the effect by rapidly running his fingers through his locks.

"Scout!" I squeaked, stumbling back to escape the spray. I stumbled over the suitcases and would have fallen flat on my arse if he hadn't grabbed my wrist at just the right moment to stop me. He pulled me closer and used his advantage to deposit the last of the moisture in his hair onto me.

"Too slow," he said with a grin. He grabbed my other wrist and held both my hands up before my face between us. "My dog used to do that when I was a kid."

"You have a dog?" I asked.

"Had. He got run over when I was ten."

"Ouch. Sorry," I said. I'd never been allowed pets, not even when I was little, so I didn't really know what it would be like to lose one. But I imagined it wouldn't be all that pleasant.

"Don't worry, he was a goofy thing anyway. One of my bros found him sleeping in a dumpster round our block. He had a flat ear and a funny eye, but he was a cute puppy and I wouldn't let my Ma send him to the pound. So she told me I could keep it if I looked after it. I called him Rusty. Then this one time my brother, Tristan, he kinda forgot to lock the gate. That big lump of fur never stood a chance 'gainst that garbage truck."

"Poor doggy."

"Poor Tristan," he corrected me. "I got so angry I knocked a tooth outta his mouth with his baseball bat. Then he gave me a black eye."

I automatically winced when he pointed at his right eye. It looked perfectly normal of course, but I knew more than anyone the sting that accompanied such an injury. "How many brothers do you have?" I asked him, trying to change the subject.

"Seven."

"SEVEN?!" I repeated. He smirked at my reaction. "Damn, your mum was a busy woman."

"Yeh she was," he laughed. "There's Conner, Riley and Shawn," he said, listing the names. For every one he said, he tapped my wrists together in front of our faces. "Dillon, Brian, Cooper and Tristan. I'm the youngest," he told me, as if he knew I was about to ask.

"The runt, huh?" I teased.

He parted my arms and pushed his face through with a wide grin. "I still bite," he warned playfully.

"I don't doubt it," I replied with a smile of my own.

"What in the name of god are you two mongrels doin?"

We jumped apart at the first syllable of the Sniper's unexpected voice. We'd been so caught up in our conversation we didn't even hear the man approaching us. Though to be fair, he'd have had to employ quite some skill at creeping to go completely undetected by not one, but two people in an otherwise empty foyer. Either that or I was more infatuated with the Scout than I'd realised.

"Mornin' Snipes," the Scout grinned, crossing his arms over his chest. "Just bringin in A's luggage's all," he explained.

"In yer pants?" the Australian asked sceptically, eyeing us both. "Don't seem like the weather for it, does it?"

"It was short notice," I said in a low voice. I was determinately averting my eyes away from the Sniper. He too, like the Scout, was not wearing a shirt. Though he was, mercifully, wearing trousers. Even though the shirtless Sniper was not in the least unpleasant to look at, I preferred to look elsewhere or else risk blushing once more. _But what else is new?_

"Hey, I thought you were sleepin in your van," Scout remarked, bending down to pick up one of my suitcases again.

In my peripheral vision, I saw the man shrug. If my eyes and nose weren't mistaken, he was carrying a mug of coffee in his right hand. As if to confirm, I heard the sound of the liquid sloshing inside the mug as he lifted it to take a sip before answering. "Knew there was a storm comin boy. Didn't fancy bein out in it all night if it hit too early." A crack of thunder sounded in the distance to support his statement.

"How did you know a storm was coming?" I asked, staring at his boots.

"Bushman's instincts love," he chuckled.

"Uh-huh," the Scout said in a sing-song voice. "Sure Snipes."

"Laugh all you want boy; don't expect a city-boy like you to know the great outdoors."

"Hey I've been campin with my bros before alright?" he retaliated smugly. "Can start a fire and everything."

"Yes, you told us about your 'camping trip'," the Sniper sniggered. "You spent one night under a sheet in your backyard to see the fourth of July fireworks. That aint campin mate. That's something kids do when they're bored."

I only just managed to keep myself under control. I'd been so close to snorting with laughter at the Sniper's comment. It seemed so much like the Scout, to do that sort of thing. In my head, I got an image of a younger scout cramped with six other boys under a tattered sheet to see the night sky come alive with colour and lights.

The Scout coughed awkwardly. "Told you never to mention that again man," he growled.

"No, if I remember well, you told me never to mention that you got scared by the loud noises and ran inside crying for your mama."

I lost it at that and laughed heartily until there were tears streaming down my cheeks. The look on Scout's face was priceless as he turned first pink, then a deep crimson. If it was from embarrassment or anger, I wasn't sure, but I suspected it was some hybrid of both.

"They lit a firecracker in the freakin tent!" he said quickly, trying to explain himself. "Right in the tent, BEHIND me!" he yelped.

"Did your shorts catch fire?" I managed to ask in between the gasps of laughter.

"Yes!" he yelled immediately. Then, two seconds later when he saw the expression on my face, he regretted speaking at all. "I meant no!"

"Sure you did lad," Sniper chuckled. "Sure you did."

"Jeez, you're such a freakin ass," he mumbled to the taller man, bending down to pick up my other suitcase before walking away.

I was still laughing silently when I began to hear the commotion from the upper floors as our other team members arose from their slumber.

"You best get going girl," the Sniper urged me after a sip of coffee. "Captain America's probably gonna be down here looking for you soon and he'll complain like there's no tomorrow if you're not here on time." He finished his sentence by kicking the haversack that constituted as the last piece of my luggage towards me.

"Wait," I said, "We're still doing training today?" I looked back out the door as another crack of thunder rolled above us.

"Of course," he said, raising an eyebrow. "Builds up better resistance to the elements that does," he assured me. "And this way you'll have sharper aim in clear weather."

"I'm not quite sure you heard me well the other day, but I have shit aim in best conditions," I reminded him as I lifted the bag onto my damp back. "If I try aiming for the targets today, I'll probably hit Spy wherever he is right now skinning helpless bunnies."

"Oh I wouldn't do that Sheila, or the spook just might skin _you,_" he warned in a semi-serious tone.

"He sounds more like a charmer each day," I murmured, more to myself than the Sniper. I sighed and shook the hair out of my eyes. "I'll see you later I suppose," I said to him in a more audible voice.

"Don't forget the slingshot," he reminded me.

"I won't."

* * *

I forgot the slingshot.

I trudged back up to my room, raincoat already dripping wet from all the water to find a bemused Scout lounging on my bunk with the weapon balancing on his chin. "Forgot something?" he mused.

"Shut up," I shushed him with a childish pout as I snatched the thing from his grasp.

"Aww," he joked, "You hurt my feelings doll."

"Serves you right for not reminding me to take it, tosspot," I said, sticking out my tongue at him.

He faked a joked sob. "Fine, be that way, cruel heartbreaker. I'll just be sitting here." I turned round to go back downstairs. "Inside." I made for the door. "In the warm." I crouched to pick up a rouge baseball. "All dry." I tossed. "Ouch!" And this time, I hit my target.

"See you later, _sweety,"_ I laughed in his wake of mild mixture of curses and chuckles.

Sniper was waiting for me downstairs in a rain-jacket of his own. "You forgot the slingshot didn't you."

"No," I said. He raised his eyebrow. "Okay yes."

He looked me up and down as soon as I was close enough. "Crikey girl, were you running or swimming? You look like you've been through a dishwasher cycle," he remarked, holding the door open for me.

"The star-spangled man made me run through the trenches. Out of all days, he made me go into the trenches _today. _I was up to my chest in muck half the time, and the other half I was being pelted by raindrops the size of my fist," I told him, pulling up the hood of my jacket. Not that it made much of a difference anyway; I was soaked right through to the bone. Even my underwear, my own this time, was damp and clammy. "I didn't even have time to shower because it took me longer than usual to finish the circuit. And all the while the bugger just sat there under a frilly umbrella."

"Not the one with the pink roses on it," the Sniper gasped.

"The very one," I confirmed. "It had lace and everything."

The Sniper shook his head in amusement. "You would not believe how many times we tried getting rid of that monstrosity. It keeps comin back each time, like it knows or something."

"Why does he have a pink frilly umbrella anyway?" I asked the Australian as I followed him out the door. "Seems a bit at odds with his behaviour."

The man shrugged. "Not a clue. I think he mentioned once that someone gave it to him. His mom I think. Something like that."

"Oh," I said. I couldn't really afford to say much else at that point, because the sky was pelting me with enormous raindrops. The downpour had increased drastically during the time it took me to get in and retrieve my slingshot. I could barely see five meters ahead of me; I couldn't begin to imagine how I was going to hit targets. I risked opening my mouth to ask the Sniper just that.

"Sight's not your only sense Sheila," he said, seemingly untroubled by the rain. "You can hear the enemy if you listen hard enough. Sometimes you can smell 'em too. If you're unlucky you can feel them at your back, but by then it's too late."

I didn't say anything until we stopped beside the base of a long, long ladder. "Up there?" I gulped, looking up at the height the ladder ascended to.

"Yup. Best place to snipe's from a nest," he told me, pushing me gently towards the rungs. "Up you go."

I hesitated nervously. "But I'll slip and fall." Even as the words left my mouth, I knew how pathetic they sounded. _God damn it,_ I scolded myself. But I couldn't help it and I knew it. I had known far too much pain in my young eighteen years to not be wary of any that might be unnecessary. Which I knew very well to be a cliché, considering I was in a warzone.

"Hold on tight and you won't," he assured me. "Just make sure you're steady before climbing the next rung."

I nodded wordlessly. With trembling fingers, I reached for the ladder. My boots found the first rung and before I could think about it again, I climbed. It seemed never to end, but before I knew it my hands landed on wide, flat wooden boards. I'd reached the nest. I was especially careful while pulling myself onto the small platform. The rain had made the wood slippery, and I held on to the railings with killer grip until the Sniper climbed beside me and opened the door to the inside. "See?" he said, "That wasn't so hard."

"Uh-huh," I said, breathlessly. I could feel my heart beating from the adrenalin and fear. "Wait, how am I going to get back down?"

"Same way you got up," he replied with humour in his voice.

"Are you always such a comedian or are you trying especially hard because you have a new audience?" I teased lightly.

"I'm not much of a funnyman actually," he admitted, closing the door behind us. "Never saw much humour in my line of work."

"You blow heads off shoulders in a wake of red mist and snapping bones," I told him, picking up a discoloured empty jar. "What's not to laugh at?"

"Um," the Sniper hesitated, staring at my hands. "You might want to put that down."

I raised one eyebrow in confusion and turned to look at the jar again. _Odd, _I thought. The glass seemed a queer shade of sickly yellow. Then, it dawned. _Oh. _"Oh." I put the jar back where I found it. "I'm just going to pretend it held pickle juice."

"You do that," he said with difficulty as he fought to suppress laughs. "If you're done poking around, maybe we can get started and get it over with. I don't like the looks of them clouds out there."

"Sure," I said, crouching down. I had given my slingshot to the Sniper and in turn, he'd put it in the haversack on his back. I dug it out now with a pouch of ball bearings made out of some dense metal. "Are these mine?" I asked, holding out the pouch.

"Yeah, they arrived with some other stuff of mine. They don't match any of my weapons, so they're probably yours."

"What do they do?" I asked, pinching one between my thumb and index finger.

"Erupt in shrapnel apparently," he replied. "Don't squeeze them too hard, by the way."

I dropped the ball back into the pouch so fast I barely even knew I'd done it. "Thanks for the forewarning mate," I said sarcastically.

"Any time Sheila." I walked over to where he was sitting before an open window. He pointed to something in the rain. "You see that red cut-out down by the shed?"

I forced my eyes to ignore the droplets interfering with my vision and focused my sights in the general direction he was indicating. At first, I couldn't see anything amidst the curtain of falling water. But then, after my eyes adjusted, I just about made out the form of Heavy, only he was dressed I red.

"The Heavy yeah?" I confirmed, narrowing my eyes to get a sharper view. "Yeah I see him."

"Good," Sniper nodded. "Now hit him."

"Come again?" I asked, looking at him in alarm. I'd expected him to at least show me how to aim with the damned weapon.

"Load. Draw. Loose," he said. "Simple."

"Um, okay," I said tentatively. I regrabbed one of the bearings from the pouch and put it at rest against the leather pad. I put the actual weapon in my right hand first, then thought better of it and transferred it to my left. I would be aiming with my right hand, and better to do that with my good hand rather than my weaker one. I positioned my hand just above the window sill, drew the rubber back as far as it would go, had a shot at aiming, and loosened.

The ball bearing erupted several metres to the left of the Russian cut-out, without so much as one single shard of shrapnel touching the thing at all.

"Well you're not horrible," the Sniper said, peering out to see the damage.

"I didn't even hit it," I told him.

"It's your first try, in the rain, with an incorrect stance," he said. "Stand sideways," he told me, getting up behind me. "Don't face your target, it limits your drawing arm and makes it harder to aim." He grabbed me by the shoulders and spun me side face. "Alright, show me again," he said.

I was temporarily frozen, and it took me time to react. I was still undergoing recovery from the sudden shock to my senses that came from the Sniper's unexpected manhandling. He hadn't done it roughly, or with intention to demean, but I still disliked the experience. The last time somebody had grabbed me by the shoulders I'd had my face slammed into a cabinet for getting home late. It wasn't the sort of thing one forgets easily, and I was no exception.

"Kid? You alright?" The Sniper's voice bore through my ringing ears as I recalled the sour memory, dragging me back to the present.

I shook myself back into my senses. "Y-yes," I stuttered, shaking my shoulders loose as if to erase the shadow of every pair of hands that ever landed on them. "I'm okay."

"Alright," he replied in a controlled voice that somehow told me he was not convinced. "Whenever you're ready, then."

I gave an inwards sigh of relief that he had not pressed the subject and did as he'd asked. I aimed, drew, and loosed another ball bearing into the rain. I lost sight of it for a split second, then found it again just before it exploded into tiny shards of metal, just a few feet from the Heavy. This time, a lot of the pieces found their target, and the shrapnel made an audible metallic screech as they embedded themselves into the cut-out. Maybe it wouldn't have taken off his foot, but the Heavy would have been seriously impaired in his left leg if the hit had been real.

"There you go," Sniper grinned. "Much better."

"Thank you," I said, relieved that I'd not made a farce of myself again.

"One more time," he said, "And this time, relax your shoulders; don't hold tension in them while you aim. Just locate the target, draw and loose. Don't try to keep the rubber stretched while you aim or your hit will be sloppy. Aim with your eyes and the ball will follow."

I noticed his instructions came without physical adjustment this time. _So he'd noticed, then. _In fact, rather than place me into position, he reached for the bow strung around his torso and an arrow from his quiver. "Watch me," he said, as he notched. The arrow was fletched with white goose feathers and made of a dark, oaky wood. "Just aim," he said as he drew, "And loose." The arrow cut through air and water with a sharp _whoosh,_ landing with a vibrating _thwang _as it buried itself into the target's head. "Your turn," he said.

I tried as he'd showed me and succeeded in landing the bearing on the Heavy's right knee. _That _hit would have blasted his kneecap right off, I was sure.

"Try and go for the head," he suggested. "A shot like that's going to cause major damage, but even through that degree of pain, someone could still get enough strength to aim a blow in your direction, especially Heavy. Try and knock them out before they get the chance, because then they're going to know where you are, and they'll attack."

Once more I drew, and finally hit the desired spot, right on the Heavy's chin.

"Aces," Sniper grinned. "But Heavy's the easiest target," he informed me. "That butterball's as slow as melting ice and big like a glacier; hitting him's not an issue. I'll be real impressed if you hit _that._" And with his words, he pointed again. "The gremlin you're sharing your bedroom with is the toughest person to hit when sniping." I saw the slim cut-out of the Scout several feet behind the one of Heavy. "That bastard's small and damn fast like a jackrabbit in heat. You have to aim about three paces ahead, or he'll run right past your shot."

"He's that fast?" I asked.

"Faster," he said. "And he's not even your biggest issue."

I furrowed my brow. "Didn't you just say he's the hardest to hit?" I asked.

"Oh he's the hardest to hit alright," he agreed. "But _hitting _is not as big an issue as _getting hit,_" he said. "And nobody's a bigger pain in the arse in that respect than the spook."

"The Spy?" I asked, hating the taste that word brought to my tongue.

"Aye," he confirmed. "That frog's a right menace to snipin he is."

"He's quite tall and broad shouldered," I offered. "And he doesn't seem especially energetic. Why should he be any harder to hit than the Scout?"

"That's all fine and dandy when you can see him love," he said. "The problem starts when you _can't._"

"Wait, what?" I asked in confusion.

"Didn't anybody tell you, kid? Spies can turn invisible, or worse, they can disguise themselves as your teammates, or anyone really." He pulled down his aviators to better show me his eyes. "I could even be a Spy right now and you wouldn't know it."

I was trying very hard not to shiver right then. I was already scared of the blu spy, and he wasn't even trying to kill me, or so I hoped. If the red spy could turn invisible… "So the red spy could be behind us right now?" I asked, turning round in alarm as the question left my mouth.

"Well I doubt he's here right now, but you bet your tea he's gonna be during battle. Snipers are a favourite target to spies. We're easy prey when our sights are locked onto the scope," he said. "I've got stabbed in the back more times than I can count by that red bastard." He demonstrated by pulling up his shirt in the back to bare a very scarred expanse of tanned skin. He turned back round to face me. "You watch your back _constantly _during battle, kid," he told me. "Enemy is enemy, but there's a clear-cut line between opponent and sadist. The spy is the last one. He kills creatively whenever he gets the chance, and I heard he likes to play with his toys." His voice was heavy with warning. "Don't make yourself an easy target Sheila," he advised, "because I'm afraid you'd make for a very pretty toy." He pulled his shirt back down and picked up his weapon.

"Now," he said, overlooking the state of alarm I was in, "Show me what you've got and hit those targets."


End file.
